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'T'HE THREE BOLOMEN HALTED 
^ LIKE HUNGRY WOLVES 



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Illustrations 


PAGE 

The Three Bolomen Halted like Hungry 
Wolves Frontispiece ^ 

Bill Smathers Started After the Flying 

Insurgent 62 

A Shout of Applause Greeted the Igor- 

rote’s Victory 108 ^ 

** This is not the Work of a Self-respect- 
ing Man. That Will Do, Sir ! " . . . 197 ^ 

You Saved My Life, Bill,” said Douglas 291 

Sergeant Douglas Atwell was a Prisoner 372 

The Moro Gave Ground and Trembled . . 403^ 


\VlnniDg His Way to West Point 















Winning His Way 
to West Point 


CHAPTER I 

“ HALT ! who’s there ? ’’ 

It was 8:30 p. m., February 4th, 1899. 

The blistering heat of the day had abated, 
and though the cool period ” of the evening 
had arrived, the American army lay swelter- 
ing in the advanced lines which surrounded 
the city of Manila. 

Accustomed to the chill, bracing Avinds of a 
February evening in his native land, the 
American soldier found the hot, perfumed 
breeze of the Philippines a seductive breath 
which wooed, yet nauseated him, which re- 
duced him to an enervated wreck of his 
rugged, American self. 

For nearly a year, the American troops had 
9 


lO 


WINNING HIS WAY 


uncomplainingly borne the burden of service 
in the Philippines, and had watched the 
gradual development of a crisis in Ameri- 
can history. Landing on the shores of old 
Cavite after Admiral Dewey’s victory, they 
had assaulted the Spanish troops behind the 
strong defenses of Manila, and had planted 
their victorious flag upon the old battlements 
which Spain had so proudly commanded 
for more than three hundred years. These 
glories had been won only to And that 
Aguinaldo, the leader of the Insurgents, 
demanded the fruits of their well-earned 
victories. 

Pursuant to a wise and humane policy, they 
had prevented these Insurgents from plunder- 
ing the captured city, and wreaking a terrible 
vengeance upon the European population, and 
they now found themselves facing the army 
of Aguinaldo in the trenches which he had 
gradually constructed about the American 
lines. The attitude of the natives toward the 
Americans was one of almost open hostility, 
and it had become universally recognized 
that war was inevitable. 

The absorbing topic of conversation along 


TO WEST POINT 


II 


the whole American line was the possible out- 
come of an undesirable, but unavoidable 
campaign. 

I tell you, boys, this state of affairs can’t 
last much longer. We are going to have 
a fight.” 

It was Corporal Jack Kelton of the First 
Nebraskas who spoke, and he spoke with an 
emphasis which carried conviction to his 
hearers. 

His intensely interested audience consisted of 
Private Arthur Kelton, his brother, and Pri- 
vate Douglas Atwell, both of the Regulars,” 
who had come over from Malate Barracks, 
Manila, to visit Corporal Jack at the camp of 
the First Nebraskas. This excellent volun- 
teer regiment enjoyed the proud distinction 
of occupying the most exposed point of the 
American line at Santa Mesa, and its sentinels 
were in almost constant contact with the 
Filipino Insurgents along the San Juan 
River. 

It was clear that the tension betw^een the 
two armies had reached its elastic limit, and 
that the slightest additional strain would pro- 
duce a rupture. Eager to see all that might 


12 


WINNING HIS WAY 


occur, Corporal Kelton had led his visitors to 
the line of the outposts, and the three young 
men now sat upon a fallen cocoanut tree dis- 
cussing the events which seemed to point so 
strongly to war. 

Go ahead, Jack,” said his brother Arthur. 
“We are anxious to hear all about the situ- 
ation. As you know, we are raw recruits, 
landed only three days ago. When I heard 
that you had gone out with the Nebraska 
Volunteers, I couldn’t stay behind, but I 
chose to cast my lot with the Regulars. The 
papers in the States said that in less than a 
month the Insurgents would force us to fight, 
so I put up the plow, bolted for a regular re- 
cruiting office, ‘ took on,’ and was ordered to 
join a batch of ' rookies ’ bound for the 
Philippines. My friend, Atwell, was one of 
the ‘ rookies,’ and we found that we had both 

been assigned to Company M, th Infantry. 

So here we are, ‘ rookies ’ in the same squad, 
of the same company, in the Regular Army.” 

“ Well,” said Corporal Jack, resuming 
discussion of his favorite topic, “ matters stand 
about this way. 

“ It looked so squally a short time ago that 


TO WEST POINT 


15 


derful courage when they believe themselves 
under the protection of an ^ an ting-anting/ 
that is, a stone, a book, or a charm of any sort, 
which they think possesses miraculous power 
to shield them from harm. All a leader has 
to do is to create a faith in some ‘ anting-an- 
ting,’ and then send his dupes off to do his 
bidding. Well, some ^ anting-anting ’ is liable 
to carry another patrol across that line, and 
then there will be fighting, and plenty of it.’^ 

Even as the Corporal spoke there seemed 
to be a movement down toward the bridge at 
which the sentinel had been posted. 

Hold on,’^ whispered the Corporal. 

WhaPs that?^^ 

The three rose and tiptoed down the road, 
peering eagerly through the semi-darkness. 

‘^Halt! Who’s there 

The air seemed suddenly to grow cold, send- 
ing a chill creeping down the spines of the 
three young soldiers as they eagerly watched 
the sentinel of the First Nebraskas at the 
bridge across the San Juan River, snap down 
his rifle to the port,” and move rapidly un- 
der the flickering lights toward the object 
which had excited his challenge. 


i6 WINNING HIS WAY 

In the official letter to which Corporal Kel- 
ton had referred, Aguinaldo had agreed to a 
line limiting the territory in which his army 
might move, and that line intersected the 
bridge across the San Juan River which the 
Nebraskan was guarding. To sanction a viola- 
tion of this compact would be no virtue of 
self-restraint, but rather a shameful abandon- 
ment of sovereign rights. 

“Halt! Who comes there?’’ came the 
challenge a second time, but in sharper, more 
commanding tones than the first. 

The regular tread of soldiers could be heard. 
The slight glint of bayonets was visible in 
the dim light. Slowly, sullenly, silently, an 
armed band of Insurgents was marching 
straight To ward the forbidden territory. 

“ Halt, or I fire 1 ” cried the sentinel, as a 
cartridge jingled in the chamber of his rifle, 
and the breech-block closed with an ominous 
click. 

On came the silent squad — across the line. 

The flash of the Nebraskan’s rifle answered 
the insult, and the Lieutenant commanding 
the invading force fell at the sentinel’s feet. 

Back across the bridge the band scurried, 


TO WEST POINT 


17 

and disappeared in the darkness as suddenly 
as they had emerged from it, but out from the 
darkness came little, leaping tongues of flame, 
and bullets rattled through the shacks about 
the bridge entrance. Then, for the first 
time, the sentinel noticed that no lights 
shone in the windows. The shacks had been 
abandoned. 

At the first shot, the guard had tumbled 
from their bamboo beds, snatched their rifles, 
and came forward at double time. 

The bridge had been cleared by the retreat 
of the Insurgents. 

A bugle call rang out from the west side of 
the San Juan River, and as its last notes died 
on the night breeze, a ripple of flame ran 
along the Insurgent trenches. The war, so 
long avoided by patient suffering of insult 
and insolence, had been most cunningly 
forced upon the American troops, and before 
the world they stood convicted of firing the 
first shot. 

The bullets were knocking little flashes of 
fire from the bridge railing, and splintering 
the bamboo-trees, when the Sergeant arrived 
with the guard. 


WINNING HIS WAY 


“What was the trouble, sentinel?’' de- 
manded the Sergeant. 

“ A squad of armed Insurgents refused to 
halt, crossed the line, and I fired. One of 
them went down over there on the bridge. 
Look out, Sergeant,” continued the sentinel, 
as the Sergeant bent over the body, “ that 
fellow may have a knife.” 

The Lieutenant was, however, beyond the 
power to inflict injury, or to precipitate an- 
other insurrection. His dying breath bore the 
unmistakable odor of “ bino,” or native wine, 
by the use of which he had stimulated his 
courage to the point of leading his men into 
the jaws of death. 

The Sergeant rapidly disposed his squad. 

“ The orders are to fire only if we are as- 
saulted. There will be no response at all to 
the fire from across the river until we receive 
instructions. Keep a sharp watch to the rear. 
It is reported that the natives intend to burn 
the city to-night, and make an attack on us 
from the rear as soon as we are well engaged 
in front.” 

Then the Sergeant withdrew to report the 
occurrence to superior authority. 


TO WEST POINT 


19 


Thus it happened that Privates Atwell and 
Kelton, recruits of three days^ experience in 
the Philippines, were speechless spectators of 
the first hostile act in the long struggle which 
was to bring important consequences to botli 
the young soldiers of the Republic. 

Though the expected rupture with the In- 
surgents had been the subject of conversation 
at the moment of its occurrence, yet this tragic 
realization had come with startling sudden- 
ness. 

‘^Come,^^ said Douglas Atwell, first to re- 
cover his presence of mind, we must get back 
to the company as quickly as we can. Listen ! 
The Insurgents are opening up all along the 
line. Those shots are certainly on the south 
side of the Pasig. Come I We can’t move 
too promptly.” 

The bugle was sounding in the camp of the 
Nebraskas. The regiment was preparing to 
form. 

Corporal Jack Kelton grasped his brother’s 
hand. 

Well, here’s good luck to you, Artie, my 
boy. It was just as I told you, but I’m glad 
the fight’s on at last. There was no use try- 


20 


WINNING HIS WAY 


ing to hold it off. Now well pitch in, and 
those little braggarts will have all the fighting 
they want inside of a week.’^ 

“ Tell us the best way back to camp,’’ said 
Atwell. “ I hardly know where I am.” 

“ Go back by carromato,” answered the 
Corporal. “ Old Pedro Fructuoso will take 
you down. Come, we will pull him out of 
bed in a hurry.” 

Corporal Jack Kelton led the way at a run, 
and in a few moments the three boys were 
tugging away at the gate of old Pedro Fruc- 
tuoso’s shack ; Pedro, the vender of fruits to 
the “ mucho bueno Americano ” ; Pedro, the 
company’s friend ; Pedro, the faithful “ Amer- 
ican isto.” 

Several mangy, slinking mongrels, with 
which Pedro’s house was blessed, set up a ter- 
rific barking, but the house seemed deserted. 
The gate was ripped from its hinges, and 
Corporal Kelton pounded at the door. There 
was no answer, but a slight noise as of some 
one creeping toward the door, could be heard 
inside. 

Quick, Pedro. Get out your carromato. 
I have some friends to take to town,” shouted 


TO WEST POINT 


21 


the Corporal in a Spanish-English conglom- 
erate, intelligible only, to the elect. 

For answer, a hand was thrust from the 
window. There was a blinding flash, and a 
pistol bullet narrowly missed its intended 
mark. 

Quick as instinct, Arthur Kelton seized the 
extended wrist, and Pedro, the good friend of 
the company ; Pedro, the true Filipino, lay 
sprawling on the ground. The pistol was 
wrenched from his hand, and sitting on his 
chest, Arthur Kelton pressed the weapon 
against his head while Atwell and his brother 
rapidly harnessed the ugly little pony to the 
carromato. 

“ Do you know the way back ? asked the 
Corporal, as the trembling Pedro was tossed 
up to the seat, and the young men jumped up 
on either side of him. 

“ Only the general direction. But tell Pedro, 
in your wonderful Spanish, where we want to 
go, and this will do the rest,’^ replied Arthur, 
as he held up the captured revolver. 

True to his racial instinct, Pedro could not 
'' sabe '' (understand) the man whose language 
had been quite intelligible to him up to that 


22 


WINNING HIS WAY 


moment, but the violent collision of the muz- 
zle of the pistol with Pedro's ribs induced 
some currents of intelligence, and stimulated 
him to heroic service. 

The carromato bounded down the Santa 
Mesa road, and whirled into Calle Malacahan. 
A battalion of the South Dakotas was form- 
ing, and patrols were hurrying through the 
streets. Headquarters was ablaze with light, 
and officers and men were eagerly discussing 
the story of the shooting, and the name of the 
Nebraskan was on every lip. 

Terrified native women were dashing 
through the streets toward their homes, while 
others were preparing to carry off their effects 
and escape from the city. In the side streets 
there huddled little sullen groups of men with 
glittering eyes that shone in the darkness. 

Pedro had ceased to protest. He was 
thinking. 

The carromato whirled across the upper 
bridge of the Pasig and turned toward Malate 
Barracks, where the regiment had been left. 

As the carromato drew up in front of bar-, 
racks it was halted by a sentinel in the street. 
The barracks were guarded by a single bat- 


TO WEST POINT 


23 


talion. Two battalions had marched out im- 
mediately upon receipt of news of the out- 
break. 

You will find your company on the Sin- 
galon Road/^ said the sentinel, and if you 
know what’s good for you, you’ll get out there 
good and lively.” 

The combined infiuence of the sentinel’s 
rifle and the captured revolver induced Pedro 
to “ sabe ” the new situation, and to get his 
carromato in motion once more. 

Fortunately Atwell had been out Singalon 
way on his second day with the company, and 
he was therefore able to guide the erring 
Pedro in the proper direction. 

The two young Americans, having now 
reached familiar territory, relaxed their vig- 
ilance. It was the indication for which 
Pedro had patiently waited. The vehicle had 
reached the sparsely settled district on the 
Singalon Road when Pedro suddenly reined 
up his horse as he drew alongside of three 
natives standing in front of a gate of a shack 
somewhat separated from the rest. 

Pedro had discovered that his trace was 
loose. 


24 


WINNING HIS WAY 


The unsuspecting American youths permit- 
ted him to descend. 

The pony, under Pedro’s dexterously con- 
cealed punishment, began to kick and plunge, 
and Pedro, with perfect appearance of resist- 
ing his refractory horse, completely turned 
him about in the road. Still clinging to the 
plunging animal, Pedro frantically gesticu- 
lated for the Americans to descend, and At- 
well and Kelton stepped to the roadside. 

The three natives came forward as if to 
render assistance, and Pedro said a few words 
to them in Tagalog, then leaped to the shafts 
of his carromato, and lashed his horse into a 
furious run down the road toward the city. 

Halt I ” yelled Kelton, as he raised his 
pistol. 

‘‘ Don’t shoot I ” cried Atwell. “ Look out 
behind you.” 

Kelton swung his pistol around quick as a 
flash, and covered the leader of the three 
natives, who had pulled long, glistening bolos 
from beneath their white camisas, and were 
coming on to the attack ; but something im- 
pelled the young soldier to withhold his 
fire. 


TO WEST POINT 


25 


To advance another step meant the death 
of one of the three natives, but by a determined 
assault they could certainly kill both the 
Americans, for Atwell was unarmed. The 
three bolomen halted like hungry wolves 
lacking the courage to close upon their prey, 
and the two young soldiers backed away along 
the dark road which leads to Singalon. 

Fearing another encounter, Atwell secured 
a heavy bamboo stake that lay in the road- 
side, and when one hundred yards had been 
placed between the young men and the enemy 
which lurked in rear of the lines, they broke 
into a run. They were quivering with ex- 
citement and anxiety, for as yet there was no 
positive certainty that they were on the right 
road, that they might not be running straight 
into the arms of the Insurgents, and the ex- 
perience through which they had just passed 
gave a clear indication of the fate that such a 
mistake would entail. 

Tall bamboo-trees rose on either side of the 
narrow road, and their interlacing branches 
cut out the half-masked light of a dusky 
moon. A slight breeze rose, and moaned and 
sighed through their sharp-edged leaves, and 


26 


WINNING HIS WAY 


to the boys’ excited imagination, the twisting 
shadows which they cast, formed threatening, 
man-like figures which made them shrink and 
hesitate. 

Now it happened about this time that Juan 
Macaraeg, a half blind, and aged Filipino, was 
returning from the fields with his carabao. 
Too deaf to hear the shots that sounded off to 
the front, too indifferent to care, Juan Macaraeg 
was perched monkey-like on the back of his 
sleepy beast of burden, while beneath his 
toothless gums he mumbled a juicy betel-nut. 
Behind him trundled a half-grown carabao 
calf. At peace with the world the three 
strolled around a turn in the road, and 
entered the densely shadowed avenue toward 
Singalon. 

It was at this precise moment that our 
young soldier friend became conscious, for the 
thousandth time, that there was something in 
the road in front, but with characteristic stub- 
bornness he refused to shrink again from what 
might prove a mere shadow. 

The collision, though every instant ex- 
pected, produced nevertheless a terrific mental 
shock. All self-control for the moment was 


TO WEST POINT 


27 


lost. With a wild shout Atwell sprang des- 
perately at the object in front, and with all 
the muscular force that eighteen years’ service 
on a farm had developed in his arm, the club 
he carried descended upon the back of the 
carabao calf. Uttering a pitiful bawl, the calf 
leaped against its mother’s heels, while Kelton 
opened fire in the general direction of the dis- 
turbance. The carabao, terrified by the shots 
and the onslaught of her offspring, leaped from 
beneath her rider, and Juan Macaraeg was 
dropped sprawling in the road. 

Scrambling to his knees, Juan shouted out 
prayers and supplications for mercy, believing 
that he had fallen into the hands of ^Huli- 
sanes,” the native highwaymen. 

The moon emerged from a cloud and re- 
vealed Atwell with his club, Kelton with his 
revolver, standing over the shriveled old 
native who was trembling in a mortal agony 
of fear. The routed carabaos were still lum- 
bering down the road. 

The young soldiers gazed at each other, and 
then burst into an uncontrollable fit of laugh- 
ter. Juan, more startled by the laughter than 
by the fall, dashed to the hedge, scrambled 


28 WINNING HIS WAY 

frantically over a bamboo fence, and disap- 
peared in the forest. 

“ Come on, Kelton,” said Atwell in a dis- 
gusted tone, we are just a pair of ^rookies’ 
that ought not to be let out of camp. We 
ought to be ploughing on the farm, or cook- 
ing on a canal boat, instead of wearing the 
uniform of soldiers in the regular army. 
Let’s walk the rest of the way to camp.” 

They soon emerged from the road into an 
opening, and the welcome crackle of musketry 
was heard to the front, where Company 

M, th Infantry was under the fire of the 

enemy. With a deep sense of relief they 
knew at last that they were approaching their 
proper destination. 

They were dripping with perspiration, ex- 
hausted by their exertions, and suffering from 
a deep sense of humiliation on account of the 
carabao incident, but that incident had pro- 
duced complete mental recovery. 

We are not far from the line now,” said 
Kelton. “ I hope no one heard that shot. I 
wouldn’t have that red-headed Casey find it 
out for the world.” 

Well, it shows that we have a few things 


TO WEST POINT 


29 

to learn/^ returned Atwell. ‘‘ No old soldier 
would have ever made that mistake.’^ 

The bullets were now raking the banana 
groves in rear of the line, but they walked 
along calmly, without fear or nervousness ; 
for this was a mild, uninteresting experience 
after that grapple in the dark with the carabao 
calf. 

The first shot had been fired — at a bleating 
calf, it is true, but yet a shot. The tremen- 
dous mental strain which always precedes an 
engagement had been broken. 


CHAPTER II 


UNDER FIRE OF THE ENEMY 

The two young soldiers came up in the 
rear of the company, which they found de- 
ployed and lying upon its arms, while the 
two company officers walked slowly up and 
down the line, ignoring the rattle of bullets 
about them. 

Privates Atwell and Kelton came forward, 
saluted, and reported their return. They had 
been granted permission to leave barracks, 
and had rejoined the company as soon as it 
became apparent that their presence was re- 
quired. The cool, dignified manner of the 
officers inspired them with a new feeling, and 
enabled them to stand with equal dignity 
and report their movements to their com- 
manding officer. 

“ You will find your equipment in charge of 
the Company Quartermaster Sergeant. Get 
your rifies, belts, and ponchos, and take your 
30 


TO WEST POINT 


31 


places on the line with your squads/’ directed 
Lieutenant Drexel, the company commander. 

You will not fire unless we are assaulted. 
Do not load your rifles at all.” 

As he spoke a bullet split a bamboo along- 
side of which the group was standing, and 
the splinters were scattered over them. It 
required all the moral force the young men 
possessed to stand erect, but in the presence of 
the two unflinching officers, nothing seemed 
impossible. 

They will make two fine soldiers,” said 
Lieutenant Drexel to his subordinate officer 
as the young men turned away to secure their 
rifles. You noticed that they kept their 
heads like veterans when the bullet smashed 
the bamboo. I never saw better bearing in 
a pair of youngsters. That young Atwell, 
though only a boy, will do excellent work 
if he gets the chance. He is a natural born 
rifleman, if I am any judge of the relation 
between physique and markmanship.” 

I agree with you,” responded Lieutenant 
Milton. I have noticed both of them and 
have been well impressed. They are country 
boys, right from the farm, and they came in 


WINNING HIS WAY 


32 

through patriotic motives. To-morrow will be 
trying-out day, and I will watch them.” 

Unconscious of the favorable comment 
which followed them, Privates Atwell and Kel- 
ton hastily buckled on their belts, snatched 
their rifles, and joined the line. 

Corporal James Casey, in whose squad they 
were allowed to serve their country, awaited 
their arrival with ill-restrained impatience. 
Only the fact that higher authority had 
sanctioned their absence prevented the ad- 
ministration of such a rebuke as only Cor- 
poral Casey’s veteran tongue could deliver. 
There was serious work in front now, and the 
irate Corporal was forced to defer his “ dress- 
ing down ” to a more appropriate and auspi- 
cious occasion. 

The Insurgents were holding fast to their 
trenches, but kept up an intermittent rattle 
of musketry. Their ill-directed bullets swept 
far above the trenches behind which the 
Americans lay in perfect safety. Toward ten 
o’clock the fire slackened, and finally com- 
pletely ceased. It had been a senseless waste 
of ammunition, but the vanity of the natives 
had been satisfied. They had attacked the 


TO WEST POINT 


33 


great Americans, conquerors of La Gran Bre- 
tana, likewise victors over Spain, which had 
been their masters for three hundred years ; 
and these great Americans dared not return 
their fire — lay like cowards, indeed, behind 
their trenches. The foolish little heads of 
the Filipinos were already formulating con- 
gratulatory proclamations, and dreaming of 
“ fiestas ” in celebration of the great victory. 

The dream included a wonderful charge 
over the trenches in the morning, the slaugh- 
ter of the whole American line, the giving 
over of the city of Manila to the vengeance 
of the conqueror. It is a peculiarity of the 
Filipino mind that no rough, inharmonious 
note ever enters the song of his conquests. 
That 10,000 American soldiers lay between 
them and the city of Manila was, to the 
natives, a negligible inconvenience in the 
consummation of the dream victory. 

The American troops entertained no false 
impression of the problem which confronted 
them. They were well aware that the enemy, 
nearly 30,000 strong, completely enveloped 
the city from the bay on the north to the bay 
on the south. Fully alive to the seriousness 


34 


WINNING HIS WAY 


of the campaign which must be waged in a 
hostile country, against an enemy that out- 
numbered them three to one, they yet eagerly 
awaited the command to attack. The Ameri- 
can soldier is a man who thinks for himself, 
and he is not slow in getting at a correct esti- 
mate of his enemy^s fighting ability. The 
unanimous verdict of the line might be sum- 
marized in the words of the red-headed veteran. 
Corporal James Casey : — “ If them lads bates 
us, it’ll be in a foot-race.” 

As the fire in front slackened, conversation 
was resumed along the line. 

“I wonder what started ’em?” suggested 
Skaguay McFadden. 

All cut an’ dried, Skag,” answered Klon- 
dyke Jones, his Alaskan pal. As we come 
out, ye didn’t notice no little brown brothers 
a-settin’ in th’ winders behind this ’ere line, 
a-smokin’ cigarettes, did ye, Skag? No, I 
guess ye’ didn’t. I wuz out at the crossroads 
t’-day, an’ ’long ’bout three o’clock I seen ’em 
peelin’ out o’ this ’ere end o’ town as if it had 
th’ plague. Th’ ain’t a pesky one o’ ’em thet 
don’t know jest when th’ ball wuz t’ begin, 
an’ wot’s on th’ bill fur to-morrer.” 


TO WEST POINT 


35 

“ Are you on th’ bill fur to-morrer, Klon- 
dyke?^^ 

“ Youll be sole owner an’ propri’ter o’ thet 
’ere mine in ’Lasky, if I am.” 

“ In this ’ere squad,” he continued, ex- 
tremes hev been chucked t’gether with reck- 
less disregard o’ th’ social propri’ties. Skaguay 
McFadden an’ Klondyke Jones, owners o’ 
gold mines o’ fab’lous riches, is required t’ eat 
beans an’ bacon ’long side o’ sech common 
critters as thet ’ere Jackson, th’ collidge lad. 
An’ t’-night when I’m preparin’ t’ make my 
last will an’ testament, this ’ere lad, Atwell, 
had t’ get mother’s permission to come in. 
Tell us, lad,” he continued, turning to At- 
well, “ how you made th’ recruitin’ officer 
believe ye wuz eighteen.” 

The remark attracted the attention of the 
vigilant squad leader, for Corporal Casey rose 
on his elbow. 

“ Tell us, instid, rookie, where ye wuz when 
the fracas began,” he interrupted, with the 
intention of telling Atwell a few things about 
his estimate of a man who was absent from 
his company at the opening of a fight. 

“ At the outposts of the First Nebraskas, 


36 WINNING HIS WAY 

where the bridge crosses the San Juan River/’ 
answered Atwell. 

Corporal Casey sat bolt upright, completely 
forgetting the original object of his question. 

“ Ye don’t say so,” cried he. Then tell 
us what ye saw.” 

Atwell briefly related what had happened 
at the outpost, while Corporal Casey came 
over close to him and eagerly listened to every 
word. 

And the sintinel,” added the Corporal, 
when Atwell had completed his narrative, 
the sintinel, what wuz he like? ” 

Atwell described him. 

Come here, Russell,” said Corporal Casey, 
in great excitement, an’ tell th’ b’ys what 
ye seen over th’ river bey ant, this day.” 

Private Fred Russell, a graduate of the 
University of California, rolled over toward 
the boys. 

“ I was passing that very outpost this morn- 
ing,” he began, “ when I saw a squad of armed 
Insurgents, commanded by a little yellow 
lieutenant, coming across from the Insurgent 
side of the river. The sentinel, who was the 
man you have just described, Atwell, had just 


TO WEST POINT 


37 


come on post. He jumped out and halted the 
squad before they reached the dead line. 
That fellow, the sentinel, I mean, has a great 
gift for queer tongues. He ‘ hablars Espanol ' 
like a Castilian, and ^ sabes ’ Tagalog like a 
song, but he pretended not to undersland the 
filthy names the little yellow fellows were 
calling him. 

“ Well, one fellow came up close to the senti- 
nel, and partially blew the smoke of his 
cigarette in the Nebraskan’s face, and then 
looking blandly up at the sentinel, he said, 
^ Mucho bueno Americano ’ ; and added in 
Tagalog, ^ What a nice roast pig you will 
make.’ ” 

“ Th’ varmint,” muttered Klondyke Jones, 
while the gritting of the red-headed Corporal’s 
teeth could be heard, as he fiercely pounded 
the earth with his heel, and gazed out to- 
ward the Insurgent trenches. 

The sentinel stood it all just to find out 
what they would say,” continued Russell. 

‘‘ Finally, the Lieutenant commanded his 
men to fall in, and said in Tagalog, ‘ We’ll 
go back, but to-night we’ll return with more 
men, and if that pig stands in our way we 


38 WINNING HIS WAY 

will impale him on our bayonets and roast 
him over the camp-fire.' 

“The natives laughed, and jeered, and 
jostled up against the sentinel, and then 
strolled away calling back foul epithets. 

“ I asked the sentinel what they said, and 
when I heard his translation, I asked him 
what he proposed doing. 

“ ‘ Nothing,' said he. ^ As I understand 
Tagalog, I hear that sort of talk from the na- 
tives every day. It is the usual blufi* and 
bluster, but if that squad really intends com- 
ing back here to-night to cross that line, I 
hope I may be the sentinel on post ! ' 

“ And from what Atwell says, he was 
there," concluded Russell, “ and now the 
question before the house is, ^ Who's the roast 

pig?"' 

Russell's audience gave emphatic expression 
to their thoughts. 

“ Boys," he said, “ we are going to have a 
fine fight to-morrow. Those little lads will 
be down to see us early. If they don't come 
early, we'll go over to see them. In either 
case there will be a fight, and I propose get- 
ting some 'sleep in the meantime, and I'd 


TO WEST POINT 


39 

advise all you ' ole sojers ' to do the same. So 
good-night.” 

Russell stretched out on his blanket and 
prepared to sleep, and Atwell made ready to 
follow his example. They had just finished 
adjusting their heavy cartridge belts to a posi- 
tion which inflicted the minimum of discom- 
fort, and had covered the breech-blocks of 
their rifles to protect them from the dew, 
when the familiar voice of First Sergeant 
Crimmins was heard as he came down the 
line, calling out names from a slip of paper 
he held in his hand. 

‘^Russell,” called the Sergeant. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Fall in for outpost duty. Fill your can- 
teen, and bring your poncho.” 

“ All right, sir,” responded the ex-colleg- 
ian, as he promptly prepared to obey the 
order. 

“ Got finished with thet ’ere sleep, Rus- 
sell ? ” asked Klondyke Jones, but Russell had 
no further information to offer. “Thet ’ere 
boy ain’t been spiled by collidge, Skag,” 
continued Jones as Russell hurried away. * 
“ Mebbe it don’t alius spile ’em, but most 


40 


WINNING HIS WAY 


gin’ly it does. My dad wuz alius a cautious 
man, an’ wouldn’t risk spilin’ me.” 

“ Atwell,” continued the Sergeant. 

‘‘ Here, sir,” responded the recruit, and his 
heart jumped. 

“ Fall in, also. You’ll find fresh water for 
your canteen at the kitchen.” 

“ Very well, sir,” said the ex-farmer boy as he 
prepared to join the nimble Russell, who was 
already proceeding to the usual rendezvous. 

Kelton lumped up and came alongside 
of Atwell. 

Atwell,” said he in a low tone, I 
wouldn’t say anything about that carabao 
calf we fought in the road to-night.” 

“ I’d lose my right hand first,” said Atwell. 

“ And say, Atwell, I examined that pistol 
we captured after I got into camp. There 
were exactly two shells in it. You remember 
I told you that I felt a prompting not to shoot 
when old Pedro gave us the slip, and the 
bolomen were preparing to slash us up. Had 
I fired the gun would have been empty, and 
Pedro knew that, and had told the bolomen 
that he would draw my fire and put us at the 
mercy of their knives. You may have the 


TO WEST POINT 


41 


shell old Pedro intended for us. I am going 
to keep, as a souvenir of the night, the shell 
I used in the ‘ carabao encounter.’ ” 

Atwell thrust the empty shell into his 
pocket as he hurried away to join the detail as 
it fell into the line. 

The company lay partially concealed in a 
bamboo thicket, while the ground in front 
was densely overgrown with tropical under- 
growth, affording an excellent opportunity for 
a stealthy approach from the enemy’s position. 
To meet this danger on such a field, it is nec- 
essary to throw out a protecting screen of out- 
posts so located that they may see and yet not 
be seeno The sentinels must lie concealed, not 
w^alk, and the form of outpost that best meets 
these conditions is the “ Cossack post,” con- 
sisting of a corporal and three privates. 
Though Russian in name, it is American in 
origin. 

Having briefly explained the situation and 
delivered his orders. Lieutenant Drexel di- 
vided the detail into three Cossack posts, and 
the Corporals quietly led their men across the 
trenches toward the enemy. The posts spread 
out and completely covered the company 


42 


WINNING HIS WAY 


front. Each Corporal placed two men behind 
a little elevation, and then conducted the 
third man fifty yards to the front, and 
ordered him to lie down and watch. The 
Corporals then returned to the men they had 
left, and lay down to wait for signals from 
their sentinels. 

The companies of the same battalion to the 
right and left had thrown forward their posts, 
thus forming a thin line of human antennae 
to feel for danger, and to send back a quiet 
message of alarm, if necessary. Thus guarded, 
the bulk of the army might lie down to sleep 
in safety. 

Lieutenants Drexel and Milton walked in 
the rear of the line. 

‘‘ Should the enemy open fire,’' said the 
company commander, “ you will not respond. 
“ Our Cossack posts are straight out in front, 
and if assaulted, they will retire across the 
trenches. Do not mistake them for the enemy. 
All talking must now cease. Go to sleep on 
your arms.” 

The words were spoken in a quiet, conver- 
sational tone, yet to those who heard, they 
carried the weight of irresistible authority. 


TO WEST POINT 


43 


The Captain of the company was on de- 
tached service, and Lieutenant Drexel was in 
command. It was he who was to lead them 
against the enemy. 

As he stood behind the line, the men looked 
up into his calm, dignified face, lit up by the 
moon which had broken from its cover behind 
the clouds, and every soldier in the ranks felt 
the power of his leadership. His arms folded 
across his chest. Lieutenant Drexel gazed out 
over the ground to be stained on the morrow 
by the blood of many a fond mother’s pride, 
and with great effort he held back the 
thought of his lonely wife and child at 
home, while in cool, methodical order, he 
mentally arranged the attack on the enemy’s 
lines. 

In the clear moonlight, he could see the sec- 
ond relief of Cossack post number two, crawl- 
ing forward to relieve the sentinel who had 
first gone on duty. A half hour had passed 
since the establisliment of the outpost. Re- 
cruit Douglas Atwell, rifle in hand, 100 
rounds of ammunition in his belt, was crawl- 
ing forward to relieve Private Fred Russell. 
Half-way forward, he whistled softly. Rus- 


44 


WINNING HIS WAY 


sell responded, and Atwell then crawled for- 
ward to his side. 

‘‘Everything seems quiet in front,” whis- 
pered Russell. “ Since the moon came out, 
any movement is visible. Now, follow this 
line along with your eye. That little black 
bump is the next sentinel. There is the one 
on your left. The orders are to whistle very 
softly if you see anything suspicious. The 
Corporal will crawl forward to you — you 
must not come back to him — unless we are at- 
tacked and driven in. Do you understand? ” 

“ Yes, I understand,” answered Atwell. 

Russell slid off the hummock on which he 
had been l^dng, and Recruit Atwell was alone 
facing the enemy. It was not the usual cus- 
tom to put recruits on outpost duty, but Lieu- 
tenant Milton had instructed the First Ser- 
geant to put him on. For the young soldier, 
there was no terror in the situation, for he 
now knew that his enemy was in front, and 
he was ready for any emergency. 

But struggle as he might, our young friend 
could not keep his thoughts from dwelling on 
the prospects of the coming day. He pictured 
the fight, the charge, the hand-to-hand 


TO WEST POINT 


45 


struggle, and wondered if his courage would 
be equal to the test. He saw himself dead 
upon the parapet, a gaping hole in his chest ; 
thought of the home he had left, the terror- 
stricken faces when the news would come 
of his death ; saw his mother, ah, poor 
mother 

Then the dim outline of the Insurgent 
trench with its background of bamboo and 
banana-trees, gave place to a scene on the 
sunny slopes of the Shawangunk Mountains 
in eastern New York, and the boy was back 
again amid the scenes of his early infancy. 

Eighteen years and two months ago that 
very day, a tenth child was born in the family 
of John Atwell. The little newcomer was 
likewise seventh in an unbroken series of 
boys, and the family rejoiced, for there was in 
this Scotch-Irish family, a revered tradition 
that a seventh son brought manifold blessings 
upon the lucky family that bore his name. 
This special dispensation of Providence, how- 
ever, brought no apparent advantage to John 
Atwell. His sudden death when his seventh 
son was but five years of age, terminated the 
career of an honest man, but an unsuccessful 


WINNING HIS WAY 


46 

farmer, and left a family of ten children, 
fitted for struggle with the world by such 
education as could be secured by winter 
attendance at a country school, three miles 
from his home. The farm, sunk in debt, 
went under the hammer to satisfy a host of 
creditors. The boys sought employment on 
the adjoining farms, and little Douglas found 
himself alone with his mother in a little 
rented house, but he possessed the great 
privilege of almost uninterrupted attendance 
at school. 

From his mother he learned the story of an 
ancestor, Douglas Atwell, a seventh son, who 
had fought heroically on the disastrous field 
of Culloden, and had won all that Avas 
possible — a kingly gratitude, an empty purse. 

Private Douglas Atwell, sentinel on Cos- 
sack post, number two, had inherited the 
spirit of this revered ancestor, and in 
obedience to that spirit, he was now crouch- 
ing over his rifle, face toAvard the enemy’s 
trenches. 

A sleepless night had worn away. Douglas 
had taken his turn several times upon his 
post, and now, in the early morning light, his 


TO WEST POINT 


47 


eyes were searching the enemy’s parapet, 
partially visible one thousand yards distant. 
Suddenly the long smooth line of the parapet 
seemed to him to break out into a dusky 
fringe. A moment more, and that fringe was 
a fringe of fire. A tremendous crash followed, 
and with it a hail of bullets rattled through 
the bamboo. Then Private Atwell knew what 
had happened. The Insurgents had risen and 
delivered a volley toward the American line. 
Small clouds of dust leaped in the air, and 
something hissed suddenly in his face. His 
cheek was spattered with dirt that rose from 
the mound of earth on which he was lying. 

The fight had begun. 


CHAPTER III 


A FIERCE ASSAULT 

It is a natural instinct in man to resist 
sudden assault, and to think afterward. 

Recruit Douglas Atwell obeyed his natural 
instinct, thrust a shell into the chamber of his 
rifle, and raised the weapon in readiness for 
the next hostile upheaval in front, when he 
was startled by a sharp command. 

“ Down with yer rifle an’ put back them 
catridges. The Lootinint’s arthers wuz not t’ 
do no shootin’ till ye wuz tould ye cud.” 

Corporal Casey, never forgetting the 
slightest detail of his superior’s orders, was 
hovering over him like a hawk. 

If ye have as much brains in yer head as a 
chicken in th’ bar-rnyar-rd, thry t’ show it,” 
added the Corporal with infinite scorn. 

The offense might not have been so serious 
had it not been for that unforgivable absence 
from the company, and from Corporal Casey’s 
squad on the preceding night. 

48 


TO WEST POINT 


49 


Now/^ continued the Corporal, as he 
watched the cartridges go safely back to the 
belt, “ crawl — crawl, mind ye, back V th’ rest 
av th’ squad. We have arthers t^ go in.” 

Douglas faithfully did as he was told. The 
Corporal made a signal, and the whole post 
retired. The company was uncovering its 
front for action. 

Sentinels were posted along the immediate 
company front, and the men made ready for 
breakfast. 

One hundred yards to the rear, Quarter- 
master Sergeant Haller had his bull carts 
drawn up behind a dense bamboo hedge, and 

Reddy ” Fagin and the Chinos were hard at 
work in the preparation of a tasty breakfast. 
Potatoes were boiling on the “ Buzzacott,” and 
the fragrant odor of coffee rose from a boiler 
beside the potatoes. 

Each man received his three small strips of 
bacon on his meat-can. The Corporal of each 
squad then gathered his flock about a little 
fire, and the bacon was soon fried to crisp, 
brown bits. With steaming meat-cans, the 
company then filed past Sergeant Haller, and 
each received a potato, two pieces of bread, a 


50 WINNING HIS WAY 

pint of coffee, and a piece of canned corned 
beef. 

Guarded from danger by a portion of the 
outpost in front, Recruit Atwell sat behind 
the bamboo screen, and thought he had never 
eaten a finer breakfast. 

In half an hour. Sergeant Haller had re- 
packed his bull carts, and was ready to follow 
the line wherever the fate of the day might 
take it. 

The outposts now took their places in the 
company, and only the magic word of superior 
authority was necessary to set the machine in 
motion. 

From the hostile trench there came only an 
occasional shot, which the company quite ig- 
nored. 

Canteens were filled, and slung from the 
shoulder, but the haversacks were turned over 
to Sergeant Haller to be guarded at the risk 
of his life. The preparations for the coming 
battle were producing no more display of emo- 
tion than the daily formation for guard mount- 
ing at Malate Barracks, and Private Douglas 
Atwell felt a glow of pride in the fact that he, 
a young recruit, shared with these seasoned 


TO WEST POINT 


SI 


veterans of the regular army their indif- 
erence to the consequences of the day. But 
suddenly his heart beat fast within him, for 
he saw, back behind a clump of bamboo, an 
ambulance drawing up, and from the ambu- 
lance a surgeon was taking a box of instru- 
ments, while a number of men of the Hos- 
pital Corps were preparing litters for the dead 
and wounded. 

The blood rushed to his face, and the 
thoughts of the preceding night came surging 
back through his brain, but Avith a great ef- 
fort, he mastered his quivering nerves, and 
felt a new acquisition of strength in having 
passed through the struggle. Fortune, more- 
over, brought an interesting diversion to his 
aid, for the loud chuckle of the “ ole sojer 
was heard on his right. 

“Look up, Skaguay,” shouted Klondyke 
Jones, as he leaned his back against a rice 
paddy, and dangled his rifle between his knees. 
“ Durn my skin if thet ’ere ain’t th’ ‘ Queer 
Feller.’ ” 

Astride the back of a mangy, decrepit, lit- 
tle pony, his legs nearly touching the road, 
came a slim, wiry, dark-looking soldier, known 


52 


WINNING HIS WAY 


to Company M, th Infantry, as the Queer 

Fellow.’^ 

His rifle, slung across his back, projected 
high above his head. His shoulders were car- 
ried abnormally high, and an old campaign 
hat was pulled down over his head until his 
ears splayed out beneath the brim. No bridle, 
halter, or even a rope, graced the neck of his 
steed whose footsteps he guided by reaching 
forward for an ear and pulling the meek ani- 
mal in the desired direction. 

Completely ignoring the laughter which his 
appearance inspired, the Queer Fellow 
stepped off his horse’s back as he would step 
from a rail fence, and solemnly and respect- 
fully reported to his company commander. 

Who’s that? ” asked Atwell. 

“ Thet ’ere’s Bill Smathers, th’ ‘ Queer Fel- 
ler,’ vacant file in this ’ere set o’ fours,” an- 
swered Russell, in perfect imitation of Klon- 
dyke Jones’ manner and voice, for Russell pos- 
sessed wonderful ability as a mimic. 

“ You have been ^ in ’ long enough to have 
discovered that the most important unit in the 
Eighth Army Corps is this particular squad, 
consisting of seven insignificant fragments of 


TO WEST POINT 


53 


humanity, and one ‘ King ' — Casey, by name. 
Well, Skaguay, Klondyke, me, and the ‘ Queer 
Fellow,^ are the permanent stars of this partic- 
ular constellation. You, Kelton and Jack- 
son are recent acquisitions. 

Private Bill Smathers, the ' Queer Fellow,’ 
has been sick in the hospital for two weeks, 
but he must have heard that we had gone out 
for the fight. So he escaped from the hos- 
pital, captured that war horse, and here he is 
to get into the trouble. He has been with the 
company for fifteen years. So have Klondyke 
and Skaguay. That trio drove six mule teams 
together all over the prairies in the old days 
when the army did not know what it was to 
be in a city garrison. 

Klondyke says that Bill Smathers used to 
amuse himself ‘ sparrin’ with an old mule. 
Well, one day the mule hit out when Bill was 
stooping down behind him, and Bill wasn’t 
looking. 

‘‘ That’s why Bill’s neck is wrinkled up like 
a turtle’s, and why his shoulders look so high, 
and that’s why Bill sometimes gets bubbles in 
his think-tank.” 

The subject of this discussion had taken his 


54 


WINNING HIS WAY 


place in the squad, greeting his old compan- 
ions with that sober, mind-your-own-business 
manner, so characteristic of a certain variety 
of western plainsmen. 

There was something about Bill Smathers 
that invited people to keep out of range un- 
less they were up to his ideas of squareness, 
yet he was clearly a prime favorite with the 
company. 

‘‘ Have we any more like the ^ Queer Fel- 
low ’ in the company ? ” asked Atwell, anxious 
to hear the full history of the men with whom 
he had cast his lot. 

“ No,” said Russell. This company is 
blessed with a number of the elect. We have 
eighteen boys from the University of Cali- 
fornia. I am one, and Jackson of this squad 
is another. Sergeant Davis and Corporal 
Early are two more. You will become ac- 
quainted with them as we go along. 

“ The rest of the company is made up mostly 
of Irish and Germans. They are the fighters 
— if not with the enemy, then among them- 
selves. There are few monotonous moments 
when rivalry is at its best. Then, also, we 
have Janowski and that other ’ski — I forget 


TO WEST POINT 


55 


his name, and cannot pronounce it anyway 
except with the aid of an ounce of pepper to 
stimulate my nose. We call him McCarthy, 
and they say he has been trying to develop an 
accent to harmonize with the name.’^ 

“ You spoke of Jackson of this squad,” said 
Atwell. “ I do not recollect having seen him 
since I joined.” 

“ Jackson — Leland Carlysle Jackson,' of the 
University of California, is company clerk. 
No, you have not the honor of his acquaint- 
ance. He spends as little time as possible with 
the squad. His father is a rich and influen- 
tial politician, and ^ Leel ^ can’t quite get over 
that fact. It is a great mortiflcation to his 
proud spirit to serve as rear rank file to a red- 
headed Irish Corporal, but to my mind it is 
one of the great sources of strength of the reg- 
ular army that a man’s place in his company 
is not determined by financial or political 
rank, but rather by the number of inches he 
stands in his stocking feet. That’s why I rub 
elbows with Klondyke Jones, and stand third 
from the right in my squad, and that’s why 
you have the honor of being my rear rank file. 

Ah, here comes Milord Leland himself. 


WINNING HIS WAY 


56 

He has been ordered out to march under the 
‘ arthers av the King/ and dollars to doughnuts 
he is not well pleased.” 

A slender, handsome, well-built boy, with 
clean shaven face and aspect of scrupulous 
neatness, was coming, with rifle in hand, from 
the direction of the First Sergeant^s shack. 

This was Leland Carlysle Jackson. 

‘‘ I wonder why he ever came into the 
army,” thought Douglas Atwell as he watched 
the superior-looking young man whose private 
income was more than that of the weather- 
beaten General who was commanding the 
Division. 

The musings of our young friend on the 
subject of his interesting comrade-in-arms, 
were interrupted by the sudden appearance of 
Lieutenants Drexel and Milton, who came out 
from the little shack which they had occupied 
during the night. It was 7:00 a. m., and or- 
ders had been received from Major Marfeigh, 
commanding the battalion, to move forward 
to the attack. 

Lieutenant Drexel blew a shrill blast upon 
a whistle, and raised his arm in the direction 
of the enemy. The men jumped to their 


TO WEST POINT 


57 

places, and a grim silence settled over the line 
as it moved forward through the thicket. 

Once clear of the bamboo enclosure in which 
the company had been partially concealed, 
young Atwell looked down the whole thin line 
of the third battalion. All sense of danger 
had departed, and his heart was thrilled with 
a strange, new feeling ; for he was going out 
to battle — to win, he felt quite sure. 

In a few moments all was lost to view ex- 
cept the men, now of his own company, now 
only of his squad. The undergrowth became 
more dense, and each man was practically 
alone ; but through them and among them 
ran Corporal Casey, his face beaming under a 
shock of flaming red hair, a pillar of strength 
to his company commander. 

To young Atwell, it had all seemed not un- 
like an eager dash through the forest, until, 
with much difficulty, the line forced its way 
through a dense bamboo hedge, and emerged 
in the open. 

A ringing volley greeted his ears, and the 
air seemed alive with bullets. In a startled 
glance down the line, he saw two men fall, 
pierced through and through. 


58 WINNING HIS WAY 

Three hundred yards to the front were the 
trenches of the enemy, and over their para- 
pets the Insurgents poured their shots as fast 
as they could work their breech-blocks. 

Down upon their faces fell the men, and 
back flew the answer to the opening volley. 
A cloud of dust rose from the Insurgent trench 
and the enemy was visibly hit. The natives 
sank almost out of sight, leaving only a head 
visible here and there, and their fire became 
high and wild. Thus protecting their bodies 
from the fire that swept their trenches, they 
thrust their rifles above their heads and deliv- 
ered a rapid, but unaimed fire toward the 
American line. 

Young Atwell lay striving in vain to de- 
liver his first shot. 

His sights looked like mountain ridges ; his 
head jerked away from each hissing missile 
that sped above him, and his rifle wobbled 
miserably. 

Fire, lad ! Fire ! Let aff yer first shot,'" 
rang a familiar voice in his ear. The ever 
vigilant Corporal was bending over him. 

“There! Now, aisy, lad, aisy. Make th’ 
nixt count. Don’t think av yer gun. Pull 


TO WEST POINT 


59 


aisy, an^ think av yer tar-rget. There ! 
There I Ye have it, lad. Now, skewer 
thirn.^^ 

Perfectly collected now, young Atwell held 
his rifle with steady nerve, and delivered his 
fire with the accuracy of a veteran. 

On his left lay Russell. Sandwiched be- 
tween the old veterans, Klondyke and Skag- 
uay, lay Kelton, receiving the hypnotic in- 
spiration of the red-headed Corporal. The 
Queer Fellow’’ came next, while Jackson was 
on the left of the line. 

The bugle pealed a few notes from some- 
where in the depths of the bamboo. 

'' Forward ! ” yelled the Corporals. The 
line sprang up, and crouching over their 
rifles, covered fifteen yards to the front, and 
at a second peal of the bugle, came down again 
and resumed fire. 

The Insurgents occupied four redoubts won 
from the Spanish in the last Revolution and 
they were holding their lines with great 
tenacity, for a famous wise man had told 
them that the anting-anting which had as- 
sured him of victory over the Spanish troops 
had repeated its sign of success. 


6o 


WINNING HIS WAY 


One hundred yards had been gained in suc- 
cessive rushes. Atwell stole a hasty glance to 
the rear as the line rose to advance. The 
sight made his heart stand still. The field 
was dotted with the dead and wounded. 
Jackson had disappeared from the squad. 
Lieutenant Drexel lay dead upon the field and 
the fate of the day rested on the shoulders 
of Lieutenant Milton, the little West Pointer. 

The fearful heat and the rapid advance 
were exhausting the men, and yet the enemy 
showed no sign of abandoning the trenches, 
and a fianking fire was now reaching the 
company from a bamboo thicket to the left 
and front. It seemed as if the gallant line 
would be forced to halt and ask for help. But 
suddenly, off to the left, the crash of Scott’s 
artillery was heard, and the shrapnel raked 
the jungle from which the tormenting fire 
had come, while a low boom rolled in from 
the sea, and broke with muffied reverberations 
over the sweltering troops. The Monadnock 
had opened upon the Insurgents’ left. 

An exultant shout rose from the line, and 
in the partial suspension of fire that followed, 
the rattle of musketry was heard to the left 


TO WEST POINT 6i 

where the volunteers had gone forward under 
General King. 

It was the psychological moment in which 
victories are won, or fields are lost — an oppor- 
tunity seized upon instantly by the peerless 
little Milton. Far out to the front, facing his 
company, his back turned toward the hail of 
bullets from the infuriated Insurgents, he 
rang out his sharp command over the tumult. 

“ Fix bayonets ! Forward ! To the charge ! 
March ! 

Up rose the line. On it came behind its 
leader as the wave follows the irresistible im- 
pulse of the moon. A fierce desire filled the 
heart of Douglas Atwell, recruit, filled it till 
he felt it must burst — a desire to reach the 
side of that heroic little officer, and fight for 
his victory till he should die. 

Unconscious of the shouts of Corporal 
Casey, Kape yer line ! Kape y-e-r line ! ” 
Douglas Atwell leaped to the front with the 
agility of a tiger, and mounted to the highest 
point of the enemy’s parapet beside his young 
company commander — first to reach it, first, 
except for one other — for the Queer Fellow ” 
was there, and knocking the little Insurgents 


62 


WINNING HIS WAY 


about as the grizzly bear knocks the dogs that 
attempt to bring him to bay. 

The company swarmed over the trenches 
and poured their fire into the terrorized na- 
tives as they broke desperately for cover. 

“ Come on ! Come on ! Come on ! shouted 
Milton, as he saw himself confronted by a 
new trench guarded by a blockhouse 200 yards 
to the front. It must be carried by pressing 
the retreat so closely that the panic of the 
routed Insurgents would be communicated to 
the defenders of the blockhouse. 

Instantly the line responded. Volley after 
volley raked the ranks, but the line came on 
in a magnificent charge. The panting men 
swept the trench from end to end, and poured 
through the door of the blockhouse. 

The attack had been made straight to the 
front, and with great chagrin the company 
saw the enemy making good his escape. The 
little black fellows were flying through the 
banana groves with a speed that seemed to 
make pursuit useless. 

Bill Smathers fired twice at one of these, 
but missed, flung down his rifle, and, to the 
dismay of the company, jumped over the 



niLL SMA THERS STARTED AFTER 
^ THE FLYING INSURGENT . 




TO WEST POINT 63 

trench and started after the flying Insurgent. 
The native was not conscious of the pursuit 
until the “ Queer Fellow was within ten 
paces of him. Then it was too late. With 
one lightning blow the native was knocked to 
the earth, his rifle was wrenched from his 
hands, and he found himself yanked to his 
feet and propelled with terrific force toward 
the American line. 

Thet ^ere’s a prisoner,’’ said the Queer 
Fellow,” as he strode back across the trench 
with the captured rifle on his shoulder. 
“ Couldn’t git ’long ’thout one o’ ’em, at least.” 


CHAPTER IV 


PRIVATE ATWELL MAKES AN ENEMY 

The blockhouse and trenches had been 
captured, but the thickets were infested 
with the concealed enemy. Bullets seemed 
to come from all directions, and the com- 
pany found itself subjected to a stinging 
fire. Lieutenant Milton promptly disposed 
his men in the captured blockhouse and 
along the trenches, and responded with great 
vigor. No puff of smoke revealed the hiding- 
place of the vicious Mausers, which, lying in 
the jungle, could with perfect safety to their 
bearers rake the American line from end to 
end. Smokeless powder was already making 
its impress on the campaign. 

A fine victory had been won, and the spirits 
of the men were high. The other companies 
of Major Marfeigh’s battalion were pressing 
forward on the left and right, and the crash 
of Scott’s artillery became louder and louder 
as the pieces were forced forward through the 

64 


TO WEST POINT 65 

thicket where the second battalion of the regi- 
ment had advanced along the Estero de Gal- 
lina, a deep and muddy creek. The volume 
of fire gradually increased until a skirmish 
had grown into a battle, the sounds of which 
rolled back through the dense forest screen 
which shut the participants from view. Then 
the firing suddenly ceased, and a distant shout 
was faintly heard by the conquerors of block- 
house No. 14. The Insurgent line had been 
rolled up on the left, and the enemy was tum- 
bling back in confusion on Pasay, where 
another line of intrenchments had been 
erected. 

Fire from the underbrush in Milton’s front 
had ceased. The victorious troops on the left 
were forming on the Singalon Poad where 
they had been joined by troops of the regular 
cavalry, and of the Washington, Dakota, and 
Tennessee volunteers, which had been sent 
forward as a support. 

No longer occupied by the enemy in front, 
the men of gallant Company M eagerly dis- 
cussed the details of the hard fight through 
which the regiment had passed, the hardest 
part of which had fallen to their lot. They 


66 


WINNING HIS WAY 


had lost heavily — -just how heavily no one as 
yet knew. Every squad had its vacant files, 
which had been filled that morning with 
specimens of the best manhood the country 
could produce. Before the setting of another 
sun, the cable, like a great sensory nerve, 
would carry back its message of pain to sting 
the hearts of mothers and wives to untold 
agonies. 

Lieutenant Drexel lay back there on the 
field, dead — the bugler said — shot through the 
heart. But it is not in the nature of man to 
linger long over calamities. The expressions 
of sympathy and regret for the man whom 
the company had so much loved and respected 
were mingled with loud-spoken words of ap- 
plause for little Milton, who had carried them 
on to victory. 

And who was the rookie ’’ who had so 
nearly outstripped the Queer Fellow,’^ who 
had fought like a madman on the trench 
alongside the Lieutenant ? 

“ Atwell — Douglas Atwell, subject of ' King ' 
Casey, and my very promising understudy,’^ 
explained Russell, as he poured water down 
the hot barrel of his rifle. “ I trained him up 


TO WEST POINT 67 

to that form in three days, and I think I may 
now risk letting him go out on the world on 
his own responsibility.” 

“And give his instructor a few lessons,” 
added one of RusselPs college chums. 

Douglas heard the talk. Another small 
group was discussing the same subject with 
enthusiastic comment, and Atwell was sur- 
prised to find that the company was agog over 
his performance. He had acted solely from 
uncontrollable impulse, and felt no claim to 
superiority over his comrades. But there 
were the men talking of his “ bravery,” and 
here came Kelton with a hearty hand ex- 
tended to grasp his own ; and the young 
boy, youngest of all that company, fiushed 
with joy and happiness. The lonely mother 
on the slopes of the Shawangunk Mountains 
would hear no tale of tragic death in a tropical 
jungle, but rather she would hear that her 
boy had fought the gallant fight, and had won 
the applause and esteem of his whole company. 

As Douglas and Kelton stood talking to- 
gether, a mounted group rode out from the 
Singalon Road, and headed toward the block- 
house. From the superiority of the mounts 


68 


WINNING HIS WAY 


and appointments, Douglas readily guessed 
that the group included personages of dis- 
tinction. One of the number galloped out 
ahead of the rest, and recognizing an officer 
in the person of the rider, the two boys 
jumped to attention and rendered the pre- 
scribed salute. 

‘‘ Present General Ovenshine’s compliments 
to Lieutenant Milton,’’ said the officer, reining 
up, “ and say that the General would like to 
see him here for a moment.” 

Douglas found Lieutenant Milton in the 
blockhouse, and delivered the message, and 
both had returned to the trench as the General 
rode up. 

The young officer’s hand rose in respectful 
salute. 

‘‘Lieutenant Milton,” said the General, “ my 
staff has brought me the report of your very 
gallant conduct in the capture of this block- 
house, which was so important to our line. I 
congratulate you and your company most 
heartily, sir, and I will see that your name is 
reported to General Anderson ; I trust that you 
will be properly rewarded.” 

“Thank you, Geijeral, thank you very 


TO WEST POINT 69 

much, sir,’’ said Lieutenant Milton, as he 
stood erect and at attention ; but aside from a 
quick flash of gratitude that shone in his 
eyes, no other expression passed over the face 
of the well-trained young officer. 

Private Atwell gazed and pondered. This 
was a new world into which he had entered, 
a new world governed by special, exalted 
laws ; a world made up of utterly dissimilar 
units whose levels of equality were flxed 
solely by official orders. 

To follow with unquestioning obedience ; to 
lead with unhesitating fearlessness ; to suffer 
adversity with fortitude ; to accept success 
with dignity, were the standards to which this 
new world aspired. And Private Douglas 
Atwell gazed upon the exponent of all these 
principles, this alert little officer from West 
Point, and with his whole heart the young 
recruit resolved to emulate the conduct of his 
superior officer. 

Sergeant,” said Lieutenant Milton, as the 
General rode away, send back a detachment 
over the battle-field with instructions to search 
for the dead and wounded, and to give all 
possible assistance to the Hospital Corps. 


70 


WINNING HIS WAY 


The non-commissioned officer in charge of the 
detachment will find Lieutenant DrexeTs 
body, secure any money, letters, or valuables 
he may have on his person, and bring them 
to me.” 

Among the men detailed to execute this 
order, were Douglas and Klondyke Jones. 

The excitement of the action had worn 
away, and the young boy shivered as he saw 
the results of the engagement. The space 
between the blockhouse and the entrench- 
ments was dotted with the Filipino dead and 
wounded, while along the bottom of the 
trench the bodies lay crossed and distorted. 
Just outside the trench lay two of the 
company’s dead, while a little farther back 
lay honest First Sergeant Crimmins, painfully 
wounded. 

Douglas noted with surprise the dexterity 
and tenderness with which the rough ole 
sojer,” Klondyke, cared for the wounded. The 
theoretical instruction which every soldier 
receives in garrison, was, in his case, supple- 
mented with much valuable experience in 
Alaska. 

Don’t niver put yer finger on a woun’, 


TO WEST POINT 


71 


Atwell. Pour on water till it’s nice an’ clean, 
but never tech it. Slap on yer anterseptic 
bandages, an’ lash ’em fast, an’ then if ye kin, 
hide yer man so thet th’ doctors can’t lay 
hands on him fur ’bout an hour. He’s then 
mos’ gin’ly safe.” 

Most of the dead had been collected, and 
the Hospital Corps had arrived to take 
charge of the wounded. Douglas and Jones 
were scouring the thickets about 200 yards in 
rear of the trenches when Douglas suddenly 
came upon a soldier lying behind a clump of 
bamboo and almost concealed in the under- 
brush. 

It was Jackson. 

Douglas moved softly over to the body, and 
stooped to make an examination, when 
Jackson gave a violent start and jumped to 
his knees, his eyebrows knit, and his face 
bearing an expression of fear and anger. 

Where are you wounded? ” said Douglas. 

Let me help you.” 

I — I Yes, I’m wounded. I’m pros- 

trated with the heat.” 

Jackson sat up and mopped his quivering 
face. 


72 


WINNING HIS WAY 


"'^Well, get along, rookie, what are you 
staring at ? he said angrily, as Douglas stood 
waiting to render assistance. Get out of the 
way. I can take care of myself.” 

The underbrush was thrust aside, and 
Klondyke Jones appeared. 

Git up, Jackson,” he shouted, as if breast- 
ing a steep hill with a six mule team, “ git up, 
sir, an^ jine yer comp’ny.” 

And Jackson obeyed. 

Atwell, thet 'ere ain’t no case o’ heat 
prostration,” said Klondyke Jones as Jackson 
moved away, “ thet ’ere’s a case o’ quittin’. 
In every big corral o’ mules, ye alius finds one 
er two balky, wuthless critters, but ’tain’t no 
use talkin’ ’bout it, ’tain’t good fur th’ rep’ta- 
tion o’ th’ corral.” 

And thus it happened that Private Atwell, 
on a mission of mercy, unwittingly made an 
enemy. 


CHAPTER V 


AFTER THE FIGHT 

It was 2 p. m. when Jones and Douglas re- 
turned to the company. 

Sergeant Haller and Reddy ’’ Fagin were 
there with the forage/^ and despite the fierce 
heat that beat down relentlessly upon the 
field, driving all to seek shelter, these two in- 
defatigable soldiers loudly exchanged their 
impressions of the day. 

It was the hour of the siesta, or midday 
rest, when the native forgets even his hostility 
to Americans, and sinks into a torpid sleep. 

Let^s go over an^ git suthin’ t’ eat,’’ said 
Klondyke, as he fanned himself with a frag- 
ment of a banana leaf, and mopped the per- 
spiration from his pulsating temples. 

Sergeant Haller was glad to furnish all that 
was available — hardtack and coffee. The 
company must be ready to move at a 
moment’s notice, he explained, as he led his 
carabao away to a small mud-hole where the 
73 


74 


WINNING HIS WAY 


animal might roll in the water and wet his 
parched hide. 

As the old veteran and the young soldier 
sat down silently to their simple meal, their 
eyes wandered through the bamboo clumps, 
and simultaneously fell upon the same object. 

Jackson was sitting upon a fallen cocoanut 
tree, eating a piece of hardtack, and drink- 
ing coffee from his tin cup, and Corporal 
Casey was facing him and demanding an ex- 
planation of his whereabouts during the en- 
gagement. 

“ Taking care of the wounded,^^ said Jack- 
son, with easy confidence. 

And who giv’ ye permission t^ leave me 
squad t’ take care o’ th’ wounded ? ” sharply 
demanded the Corporal. 

No one. Reiter was hit, and I ran over 
to him. I saw he was bleeding to death, so I 
stayed with him and tried to stop the flow of 
blood. Reiter and I have been friends all our 
lives, classmates at college, and I couldn’t 
leave him alone to die. Nothing could save 
him, however, and so I left as soon as the 
Hospital Corps men came on the field.” 

Corporal Casey’s onslaught had been 


TO WEST POINT 


75 

checked, and Jackson thoroughly enjoyed the 
advantage he had scored. 

‘'Where was Reiter hit?” continued the 
Corporal in a more gentle tone. 

“ Through the hips,” answered Jackson 
promptly. “ A large artery was cut, and 
nothing could save him.” 

“ Thet 'ere lad's goin' t' make one o' th' 
great political pillars o' th' state, some day,” 
said Klondyke Jones. “ He has all th' neces- 
sary qualifications. Shouldn't be s'prised t' 
see him 'lected t' congress fur his gallantry in 
action this mornin'.” 

Jackson had disposed of Corporal Casey for 
the time being. He flung away his unfinished 
hardtack, dumped out the coffee, and came 
back past Jones and Douglas on his way to 
the position of his squad. It was clear to 
him that they had overheard his conversation 
with the Corporal, but he knew that they 
could not disprove his assertions. 

The very opposites in every quality of 
body and mind, the two boys gazed in silence 
at each other, and each instinctively felt 
that he was the natural born enemy of the 
other. 


76 WINNING HIS WAY 

“ Th’ only question is what do ’bout th’ 
case,” said Klondyke. 

Nothing at all,” said Douglas emphat- 
ically. He may have fallen out to help 
Reiter — you can’t prove that he didn’t. I 
am willing to believe that he did, and if he 
did not, then it is only a matter of time until 
he will show his character to the whole com- 
pany. This is his first fight, anyway, and I 
think we ought to keep silent.” 

“ Sound as a dollar, thet ’ere argiment,” 
said Klondyke, as he shot a peculiar glance 
from his keen eyes at his young companion. 
“ 1 wuz jest wonderin’ how you’d look at it, 
as I seen thet you two boys wuz goin’ t’ be 
great friends.” 

Douglas only laughed. Just then the con- 
versation was interrupted by a bugle call from 
the direction of the blockhouse, commanding 
the company to fall in. The inconsiderate 
Americans were about to violate the sanctity 
of the siesta hour. 

Douglas and Jones hastily joined their 
squad, and the company marched out to join 
the troops already forming on the Singalon 
Road. The second battalion of the regiment 


TO WEST POINT 


77 

now took the lead, and the column resumed 
its march on Pasay. 

Hostile outposts were at once encountered, 
and the advance guard became engaged, and 
gradually deployed into a thin line of skir- 
mishers. The Dakota volunteers had ad- 
vanced along the beach road, and the Insur- 
gents, now finding themselves pressed from 
three sides, attempted no further resistance, 
and made frantic efforts to escape. Rifles 
were deserted, uniforms were flung in the 
street as they fled, and thus unburdened, they 
ran like deer before the swift advance. 

Swarming through the streets of Pasay, the 
troops eagerly gathered up the abandoned 
rifles, piled them in heaps and set them on 
fire. 

The bonfire had burned to ashes, and dark- 
ness was settling on the scene when the sec- 
ond battalion marched out toward San Pedro 
Macati, and the third battalion extended to 
the right until it nearly touched the bay, and 
here the line was ordered to remain for the 
night. 

Except for an occasional shot, all resistance 
on the part of th§ enemy had disappeared, 


78 WINNING HIS WAY 

and Reddy Fagin, in fragments of a cap- 
tured Insurgent uniform, danced about his 
steaming cooking utensils as he prepared sup- 
per for the hungry men. In high spirits the 
soldiers gathered about the kitchen, as a 
mounted courier rode down along the line. 

‘‘ What news? shouted the company. 

Haven’t got time to tell, unless you can 
let me have something to eat,” responded the 
courier. 

The rider was promptly hauled from his 
horse, and conducted to a place in the hungry 
line. 

“ Now, open up yer batteries,” said Klon- 
dyke, as he presented the courier with a large 
tin cup full of coffee, and a meat can filled 
with fried bacon and chicken, for Reddy Fa- 
gin had managed to gather in a fine supply of 
poultry as he came up in rear of the skirmish 
line. 

Well,” said the courier, ‘‘ everything went 
off like a sky-rocket. General MacArthur 
pitched into them early this morning, and 
swept everything before him. A lot of 
mountaineers, head-hunters and dog-eaters 
came down from the north country, and 


TO WEST POINT 


79 


waded into the boys with bows, arrows and 
battle-axes. The wild men wore carabao skins 
across their chests because they had been told 
that these were a sure protection — an ^ anting- 
anting,’ which as a resister of bullets would 
make a piece of harveyized steel look like a 
soft pine board. 

“ Of course, the boys had to stop ^em. It 
wouldnT be healthy to get into close quarters 
with those axe swingers. Their chief was cap- 
tured, and swears vengeance on the Insurgent 
leaders for sending in his people under false 
pretenses. It was a terrible thing, but it 
couldnT be helped. The field was littered 
with their dead and wounded before they 
were convinced that their anting-anting was 
not in good form. 

Is there a man here named Kelton ? 
suddenly asked the courier. 

Yes, my name’s Kelton,” responded our 
young recruit, as he looked anxiously at the 
news-bearer. 

‘‘ Well, your brother. Corporal Jack Kelton, 
sends word that he is all right. The Ne- 
braskas went at ’em in great style this morn- 
ing, captured the blockhouses in front, charged 


8o 


WINNING HIS WAY 


and took the reservoir, and they say they have 
taken the pumping-station too, but I’m not 
sure about that. Jack says that the first dead 
Filipino he found in the trenches which they 
captured, was old Pedro — what-you-may-call- 
him ? Pedro — the ^ mucho bueno American- 
isto,’ who brought you down in the carromato.” 

Where did ye jest now come from ? ” 
urged Klondyke. 

'' I came down from San Pedro Macati with 
an officer from corps headquarters. The of- 
ficer brought down orders for your Colonel to 
send out a battalion along the road to connect 
with General King’s brigade. As soon as 
your battalion moved out, I strolled down to 
see if I could find a meal. It’s been a great 
day. General King had a fine fight. He 
swung around his right this morning until 
the Insurgents were closed in on the river, 
and the only road out was across the water. 
Walkin’ was bad, and they say that a lot that 
left this shore haven’t arrived on the other 
side yet. It was too bad. The Insurgents 
don’t believe in giving quarter, and they 
thought they would get no quarter. They 
will soon find that it is better to be a prisoner 


TO WEST POINT 8i 

under the Americans than a free soldier in 
their own ranks. 

“Well good-bye, boys, and many thanks. 
I have had the finest meal I ever tasted,’’ 
shouted the courier as he swung into his sad- 
dle, and rode away in the darkness. 

The moon had risen ; the stars were twink- 
ling in the clear sky, and the little town lay 
bathed in the mellow light. Far out to the 
front lay the outposts, but Douglas Atwell 
was not one of them. He had had his ex- 
perience on the preceding night, which to his 
tired mind, seemed years ago. His company 
occupied the right of the line, and the gentle 
roll of the sea broke upon his weary ears like 
soothing music. 

The town had been deserted upon the first 
exchange of shots, and the extreme edge of 
the village, marked by a thin string of aban- 
doned shacks, formed the natural line of de- 
fense. 

These shacks were divided up in regular 
order between the squads, and eagerly the boy 
climbed the ladder steps of Corporal Casey’s 
shack, and stretched his blanket upon the 
floor, made of strips of bamboo lashed to 


82 


WINNING HIS WAY 


cross pieces of the same material. The shack 
was a huge bird’s nest, six feet from the 
ground, supported by four uprights at its cor- 
ners. The walls and roof were of nipa. 

Lizards croaked in the rafters, and bats 
whirled through the open windows, and the 
soiled uniform clung to his aching limbs, 
yet, with happy heart, the boy closed his 
weary eyes and slept. He had had no sleep on 
the preceding night, and had passed through 
a fearful engagement — but he had done his 
duty manfully, and had won the respect of 
his comrades in arms. 

Lying in the opposite corner of the same 
shack, his eyes wide open and sleepless, his 
brain active. Private Leland Jackson was 
struggling to form some plan of placing in his 
power the two men who had witnessed his 
cowardly conduct on the battle-field. 

Back among the bamboo thickets, between 
Manila and the American line, thousands 
of Filipino dead lay motionless in the moon- 
light. 


CHAPTER VI 


AMBUSHED BY GUERRILLAS 

When the troops rolled out to answer re- 
veille roll call on February 6th, the scene was 
as quiet as a Sunday morning in a country 
church-yard. The outposts reported no signs 
of hostility in front, but over on the north 
side of the Pasig intermittent firing had been 
heard throughout the night. 

The energetic signal corps had repaired the 
broken line back into the city, and an 
operator now sat at the telegraph key at the 
Tribunal,^^ and talked with a comrade at 
headquarters, and this is the story which the 
instrument ticked off to the operator, and 
which he promptly carried to the troops as 
they fell in line for breakfast. 

It was well known that secret societies had 
been forming and arming for months within 
the city limits, but it had been impossible to 
exactly locate the arms, or to lay hands on 
the leaders of the conspiracy. The native 
83 


WINNING HIS WAY 


84 

spies in the service of the government had 
produced evidence to show that the conspiracy 
was wide-spread and formidable, and the 
office of the Provost Marshal General was 
taking all possible precautions against sur- 
prise. 

All day long the natives had swarmed in 
the market-places, or had gathered in small 
knots in the side streets. As darkness fell 
upon the oriental metropolis, it was reported 
that some portions of the city had been 
vacated, while other portions had been 
crowded beyond their normal capacity. 
Women and children gradually disappeared 
from the streets, and the only persons abroad 
were the white garbed men who halted 
timorously on the approach of American 
patrols and cried out, “ amigos, senores, 
amigos ’’ (friends, sirs, friends). 

All remained quiet, however, until a bell in a 
church tower tolled out seven long, quavering 
notes to tell the waiting conspirators that the 
hour had come to strike. Then dark armed 
figures glided into the dimly lighted streets, 
and opened fire upon the American patrols. 

The troops met the fire with impetuous 


TO WEST POINT 


8S 

charges, and pursued the fleeing riflemen into 
the dark alleys and back streets where only the 
flash of the native’s rifle revealed his where- 
abouts. 

Simultaneously with the attack of the rifle- 
men, incendiaries with burning torches had 
appeared on the outskirts of the city, and the 
sky was soon illumined with the flames from 
the burning shacks, while the white garbed 
natives rushed hither and thither, assuming a 
perfect imitation of the surprised and 
aggrieved citizen whose property was menaced 
by the ruthless outlaws in whose power he 
found himself. Thus, in their reckless enthu- 
siasm, the American troops were drawn far 
apart, when the surprised and aggrieved 
citizens suddenly fell upon them with knife, 
pistol, and bolo which their long camisas had 
served to conceal. 

Instantly the troops grasped the situation 
— everything in the streets was an enemy, and 
the struggle was brief but bloody. Before the 
flerce onslaught of the Americans the con- 
spirators either perished or escaped into the 
scattered shacks on the outskirts of the town. 

A ring of flame was licking up the nipa 


86 


WINNING HIS WAY 


shacks, but a half hour’s heroic work arrested 
its progress. 

Thus ended the first effort of the natives to 
destroy the city of Manila. 

“ Looks mighty nice an’ Sunday-like, an’ 
nobody’d think ’twas war times,” said Klon- 
dyke Jones, ‘‘ but I guess ’tain’t best t’ go much 
on appearances in this ’ere kintry. Bill,” 
he continued, addressing the Queer Fel- 
low,” you better keep yer eye peeled fur 
thet ’ere pris’ner o’ yourn. I’d as soon trust 
a black snake as thet ’ere critter after bearin’ 
th’ stories th’ operator has been a-tellin’ us.” 

Bill looked through his narrow lids, and 
ran his eyes up and down his prisoner, who 
was devouring a plate of hash with a fierce 
relish which the use of fingers instead of forks 
did not seem to impair. Then Bill walked 
over to the prisoner and shouted in his 
ear : — 

Say, any time ye want t’ fight it out, I’m 
ready fur ye, an’ don’t ye forget it. Ye’ll get 
a square deal, too, an’ th’ best man’ll win.” 

The company roared with laughter, and 
the prisoner, thinking himself the hero of a 
joke, laughed with the rest. 


TO WEST POINT 


87 

'' Bill, ye might jest ’bout as well hev told 
thet ’ere story t’ Reddy Fagin’s carabao. He’d 
understand jest as much,” said Klondyke. 

Let my pris’ner alone,” said Reddy. 

He’s a fine lad — works like a bull. I’ve 
had him peelin’ taters all mornin’ and he 
done bully.” 

Reddy was preparing for a long speech, but 
he was brushed out of the way by the Com- 
pany Quartermaster Sergeant, who had im- 
mediate business to transact. 

“ Men,” said he, I am going in to the city 
to-day to bring out ammunition and rations, 
and the detail that is to go with me Avill be 
found on the company bulletin board. The 
detail will fall in down at the beach road. 
Be ready in half an hour.” 

Among the names that appeared on the 
Sergeant’s list were those of Bill Smathers, 
Douglas Atwell, and Fred Russell, members 
of Corporal Casey’s famous squad. 

Douglas secured his rifle, belt, and canteen, 
and promptly proceeded to the designated 
rendezvous, where he sat down to await the 
rest of the detachment. He looked forward 
with pleasant anticipations to the quiet walk 


88 


WINNING HIS WAY 


aloLg the beautiful, peaceful road that drew 
away among the banana-trees toward the 
city. 

As he sat musing, the Regimental Quarter- 
master Sergeant came along the line with a 
number of bull carts from which he distrib- 
uted picks and shovels to the companies. 
Orders had come to intrench the line, and the 
magnitude of the plan indicated that no 
further advance was to be made. 

Douglas accepted the situation with a deep 
sense of regret, but he knew that the true 
spirit of the soldier required him to restrain 
his feelings. The regiment had won its first 
fight with unusual distinction, but now all 
signs indicated a quiet occupation of the 
trenches while other regiments would go out 
to finish up the campaign and win their 
laurels. 

The rest of the detail slowly assembled at 
the crossroads, and as Sergeant Haller ap- 
peared with his bull carts, the escort drew 
away toward Manila. The road along which 
the escort was moving lay close to the beach 
where were stranded the wrecks of the Span- 
ish fieet which had faced Admiral Dewey on 


TO WEST POINT 


the 1st of the preceding May. The country 
here was flat and low lying — almost awasli, 
and the whole surface was densely overgrown 
with nipa-palm and banana-trees. Shacks 
lined the road all the way to Malate, and were 
gathered in small clusters in clearings almost 
invisible from the main thoroughfare. 

A native, naked to the waist, with a long 
bolo dangling from his side, emerged from 
the thicket with a newly cut piece of bamboo, 
and gazed lazily at the approaching escort. 
Then he walked 200 yards down the road 
and called loudly, and as the answer came from 
the heart of the jungle, he brushed the leaves 
aside, and disappeared. 

Ten riflemen and three carabaos,’^ he had 
shouted, but to the Americans the words were 
meaningless. 

So naturally, so unconsciously had the na- 
tive played his part that the gentle prompting 
to caution which the incident inspired was 
allowed to go unheeded ; for was not the es- 
cort within the lines in the territory of the 
non-combatants whom it was the duty of the 
escort to protect ? The story which the opera- 
tor had told should have sounded a warning. 


90 WINNING HIS WAY 

but the American is slow to recognize du- 
plicity. 

Thus lost in quiet musings, the escort strolled 
into the dense banana swamps. 

A ringing volley sounded almost in their 
faces, and a carabao rolled dead in the road, 
while a man in the rear of the escort clutched 
a bleeding arm. Before the escort could re- 
turn the sudden fire, the guerrillas were gone, 
leaving the astonished little band wondering 
how so little damage had been done. 

Quickly organizing a squad. Sergeant Hal- 
ler started in hot pursuit, leaving the rest to 
guard the train. The guerrillas could be seen 
dodging through the underbrush, turning on 
their pursuers, and firing snap-shots from the 
hip. Russell, Douglas Atwell, and the ‘‘ Queer 
Fellow ” were pursuing closely, when they 
found themselves in a clearing occupied by a 
small group of houses. Bill Smathers heard a 
shot behind his back, and felt the juice of a 
banana-tree spatter in his face. He turned to 
see a native with scowling, malicious face, 
jumping back from the window of a neighbor- 
ing shack. Smathers fired quickly, and ran 
to the ladder leading up to the house, at the 


TO WEST POINT 


91 

same time shouting to Douglas and Russell to 
rally to his support. 

With one blow of the butt of his rifle, the 
Queer Fellow smashed down the light 
bamboo door, and stepped inside the shack, to 
find himself confronted by three bolomen, one 
of whom was the native whom they had seen 
in the road. 

The suddenness of Bill Smathers^ assault 
had destroyed his enemy’s chance of complete 
concert of action, for the three bolomen were 
awkwardly bunched together as they rushed 
upon him. Firing instantly from the hip, he 
brought down the first by a shot through the 
shoulder, but the other two were too close for 
him to reload. The nearest of the two swung 
his bolo with terrific force, but instead of re- 
tiring, the Queer Fellow” leaped at his antag- 
onist to meet the blow. The bolo landed on 
the uplifted rifle, and bit it to the iron barrel, 
but the “ Queer Fellow ” was upon him, and 
the native was flung to the floor by the force 
of the collision. With one mighty leap Bill 
Smathers cleared his body, and bore down 
upon the remaining boloman. Feinting once 
to induce the native to lower his bolo, the 


92 


WINNING HIS WAY 


Queer Fellow ” swung forward the butt of 
his rifle to the man’s chin, and as the man fell 
Bill pressed his rifle against his chest. 

A shot sounded in the doorway, and Bill 
whirled about to see Douglas Atwell lowering 
his rifle, while on the floor lay the native who 
had fired at him from the window, and Smath- 
ers now saw what he had failed to observe 
as he entered the shack. 

The room was divided into two compart- 
ments separated by a partition wall, behind 
which the rifleman had concealed himself 
when the struggle with the three bolomen be- 
gan. He had crept from his hiding-place and 
was about to kill Smathers by a shot in the 
back when Douglas reached the ladder. 

The '' Queer Fellow ” grasped young At- 
well’s hand as he realized the situation. 

“ Yer a brick, pal,” said he, as a smile 
spread over his face. I wunt forgit thet 
’ere, I wunt. Ye saved my gizzard, an’ if 
ye’re ever in a close pinch ye kin depend 
on Bill Smathers t’ stand by ye t’ th’ last 
ditch.” 

Bill uttered these words with an intensity 
of expression which left no doubt as to the 


TO WEST POINT 


93 


sincerity of his declaration, and then he 
turned abruptly upon the victims of his 
prowess. 

Git along, ye varmin,” he roared, pointing 
down the ladder steps. “Wait there fur ’em, 
Russell, an’ see thet ye don’t let ’em go far if 
they run.” 

Fully expecting the barbarous death they 
would have inflicted under like circumstances, 
the four prisoners went trembling down the 
ladder as they muttered supplications for 
mercy. The two bolomen who had not been 
seriously injured were forced to carry the 
wounded men and place them upon the bull 
carts. Their wounds were carefully bound as 
the Americans laughed and discussed the en- 
counter, humorously describing their sensa- 
tions when the volley spat in their faces. 

Sergeant Haller had returned to the train, 
proudly bearing a captured rifle which he had 
forced a guerrilla to drop, but he was too fat 
to duplicate the “ Queer Fellow’s ” exploit of 
capturing the rifleman as well. 

Only one man had been wounded, and there 
were the four prisoners and one rifle to com- 
pensate for that single wound of which the 


94 


WINNING HIS WAY 


wounded man felt exceedingly proud. The 
dead carabao was unhitched from his cart, and 
his burden transferred to the strongest animal, 
and the escort was about to resume its march 
when one of the men called out, 

‘‘ Schmidt is not here, Sergeant.^^ 

“ Well, where is he ? ” demanded the Ser- 
geant, as he looked anxiously about the de- 
tachment. 

“ I donT know, sir,” replied the soldier. 
“ He rushed into the underbrush after the 
guerrillas, and I thought he had come back 
with the rest, but he isn’t here.” 

“ Corporal Jackson, keep your squad here 
to guard the train. The rest come on with 
me,” shouted the Sergeant as he led the way 
back into the jungle. The party spread out 
into a thin line of skirmishers at twenty paces 
interval, shouting as they went. They had 
cleared the ground over which the skirmish 
of the morning had taken place, when Douglas 
came in sight of a shack in a second clearing 
far removed from the road. A native Avas set- 
ting fire to the thatched roof, and a number 
of bolomen were running from the shack. 
Their bodies were stained with blood, and one 


TO WEST POINT 


95 

carried a Krag- Jorgensen rifle, and the equip- 
ments of an American soldier. 

One quick shot wounded the native and 
forced him to drop the rifle, but he kept his 
feet and continued to run. Douglas shouted 
at the top of his voice to his comrades and 
dashed for the shack, fully comprehending 
the terrible tragedy that had been enacted. 

A bamboo rack used by natives for carry- 
ing cocoanuts, lay beside the shack, and this 
he seized and entered the burning building. 

Upon the floor lay the naked body of 
Private Schmidt, mutilated almost beyond 
recognition. Assisted by one of his comrades, 
Douglas placed the body upon the rack and 
carried it from the burning shack as the 
flames crept down the walls to the black spot 
where the mangled body had lain. 

The searching party had rallied around the 
shack as soon as the shots had been fired, and 
they now raked the underbrush into which 
the assassins had disappeared. The burning 
cinders rose from the roof of the shack and 
fell among the adjoining buildings, and in a 
few moments the whole settlement was ablaze. 

Schmidt's body was carried silently back to 


WINNING HIS WAY 


96 

the train, and laid upon the bull cart along- 
side the prisoners whose wounds had been 
bandaged by the dead man’s comrades. 

‘‘ They’re our prisoners, an’ we’ve got t’ 
treat ’em right,” said the “ Queer Fellow,” ‘‘but 
if ever I meet ’em again in a fair an’ square 
fight, hang me if I don’t — if I don’t ” 

The “ Queer Fellow ” could find no words to 
express his tumultuous thoughts. He swung 
his arms in the air, stamped the earth, and 
shook with rage. 

“ Th’ ain’t nothin’ square in them ’ere crit- 
ters,” he muttered as the escort moved on 
toward Manila. 

There were the prisoners and the captured 
rifle, but there was also the mangled body of 
their comrade, and the hearts of the little es- 
cort were full of bitterness. Natives with 
blank, expressionless faces came out on the 
roadside to gaze at the escort as it pulled into 
the suburbs with its gruesome burden, and 
among the spectators in white trousers and 
new clean camisas, were some who had as- 
sisted in the butchery of the American 
soldier. 

The body was turned over for burial along- 


TO WEST POINT 


97 


side those who had fallen in front of block- 
house No. 14, and the prisoners were delivered 
to the Provost Guard. 

Already the prisons were well filled. 
Nearly four hundred had been taken in the 
first day’s fighting, and among them were 
many former residents of Manila whose friend- 
ship for the American cause had “ been un- 
doubted.” 

Sergeant Haller loaded his carts with the 
necessary rations and ammunition, and laid 
off his escort to escape the fierce heat of the 
midday sun. The streets were deserted, ex- 
cept for the guards who vigilantly awaited, 
with loaded rifies, for any signs of a new out- 
break, but the native population was wrapped 
in indifferent sleep. 

At three o’clock the escort resumed its 
march, and all were now keenly on the alert 
for any sign of the treacherous enemy, but the 
scene of the morning’s skirmish was as quiet 
as the grave. The dead carabao lay undis- 
turbed in the road. A new one had been se- 
cured in Manila, where all available animals 
had been collected in contemplation of the 
general advance of the army. 


WINNING HIS WAY 


One man had been lost, another wounded, 
but the Americans had learned a valuable 
lesson. 

The escort accomplished its return trip 
without further incident, and drew up in 
front of the company kitchen to discharge its 
load of rations. Reddy Fagin was there 
loudly discussing the merits of his new as- 
sistant with a young Englishman who had 
ridden out to Pasay to see the regimental 
commander on some business matters. 

“ Why, your valet is an Igorrote,” said the 
Englishman. He comes from the moun- 
tains not very far from Dagupan, the northern 
terminus of the railroad. He says that he 
and a number of his tribe were drafted by the 
Tagalog soldiers, who told them that the Amer- 
icans were monsters who ate children ; that 
Manila would be captured and looted, and the 
conquerors would be forever enriched by the 
spoils. 

“ Well, he has had enough fighting against 
the Americans, and he would like to be per- 
mitted to stay and work for his food.’’ 

“You’re all right,” shouted Reddy, slap- 
ping the Igorrote on the back. “ I’ll learn 


TO WEST POINT 


99 


you hablar English, sabe? Poco tempo you 
hablar English jist as good as I kin, sabe? 
Ask the lad what his name is,’' continued 
Reddy with great enthusiasm. 

“ Babong,” said the Igorrote, in response to 
the Englishman’s interpretation. 

“ Babboon ! Babboon ! Haha,” shouted 
Reddy. “ Babboon’s right, but we’ll call ye 
Bab fur short. Now, Bab, lay hold o’ this 
tank o’ slum-guggin, an’ git ready fur sow- 
sow. Here come the boys fur supper.” 

The bugler was already sounding the mess- 
call and the men were enroute to the kitchen. 
A hard day’s labor on the trenches had pro- 
duced a fine appetite, and the hungry com- 
pany ate heartily of the fare that Reddy had 
prepared, while Sergeant Haller related the 
story of the tragic death of Dutchy ” 
Schmidt ; how the escort had rescued his 
body from the burning shack, and carried the 
mutilated corpse to Manila to be buried beside 
his comrades. 

The old Sergeant’s voice was choked with 
emotion as he turned with quivering lips to 
the company and said, Boys, I would give 
all I ever owned for the chance to fight them 


lOO 


WINNING HIS WAY 


till the last breath leaves my body, but not a 
shot has been fired here to-day, and I don’t 
believe we are going to have a chance.” 

“ You’ll get the chance, boys,” said the 
operator, who had been an interested listener 
to the Sergeant’s words. There’s trouble in 
plenty brewing on the north line, and General 
Mac Arthur has asked for this regiment, and 
there is every reason to believe that you will 
get orders to march before nine o’clock to- 
night.” 


CHAPTER VII 


THE “ CHINO 

The report which the operator had brought 
to the company was soon verified by official 

orders directing the th Infantry, the North 

Dakotas, Captain Dyer’s Battery of Light Ar- 
tillery, and some troops of the Fourth Regular 
Cavalry, to withdraw from their position in 
the trenches, and to report to General Mac- 
Arthur on the north side of the Pasig River. 

Acting First Sergeant Tom Collins, who 
was performing the duties of his wounded su- 
perior, was never more enthusiastically re- 
ceived by his comrades, than that night as 
he walked along the line of shacks, and de- 
livered the orders to Lieutenant Milton for 
the company to hold itself in readiness to 
march at 6 : 00 a. m. 

To march ! ” The ardent wish of the 
company was to be granted — they were again 
to meet the enemy. The unpleasant prospect 
of sitting through weary days and nights as 

lOl 


102 


WINNING HIS WAY 


guard on the trenches, was dispelled as if by 
magic, for the words sounded of campaign, 
of action ; and the delighted company pre- 
pared their scanty equipments with alacrity, 
and whiled away the rest of the evening lis- 
tening to the “ ole sojer,’' Klondyke Jones, 
relating the stories of the Indian campaigns 
through which the regiment had passed. 

All was quiet along the line. The town 
had been almost wholly reoccupied by its in- 
habitants, and it required no inspired prophet 
to predict that, as the troops rolled over on 
the bamboo floors to sleep for the night, their 
slumbers would not be disturbed by the fire 
in front. 

The men woke well rested from a calm and 
peaceful night’s sleep, and while they were still 
at breakfast, the regiment of regular infantry 
designated to relieve the line marched into 
Pasay, halted, and dropped their rifles to the 
order.” This gallant regiment, recruited 
and reorganized after the arduous campaign 
in Cuba, had very recently arrived, and now 
presented itself in superb order to share the 
honors and dangers of the new battle-fields of 
the Republic. 


TO WEST POINT 


T03 


Beside the gray-haired Colonel rode an Aide 
from corps headquarters to indicate the limits 
of the line over which the regiment was or- 
dered to exercise control. A brief inspec- 
tion, a ringing command, and two battalions 
marched away toward San Pedro Macati, 
while but one battalion was left to occupy the 

line which the th Infantry had formerly 

held. 

The men of the two commands mingled 
freely together as the outposts were being re- 
lieved, and the stories of ambuscades, bolo 
encounters, and outpost attacks with which 
the “ veterans entertained the “ newcomers 
were sufficient to destroy the peaceful slum- 
bers of the latter for many nights to come. 

At exactly six o’clock the company fell 
into line, and marched away to form regiment 
at Pasay, and Private Douglas Atwell found 
himself once more shoulder to shoulder with 
his good friend,” Jackson, from whom there 
was no escape so long as official orders as- 
signed them to the same squad. 

As the regiment swung out leisurely at 
route step along the Singalon Road, a whistler 
at the head of the column struck up ‘‘ A Hot 


104 


WINNING HIS WAY 


Time,” and his comrades dropped into rough 
cadence with the refrain and swelled its vol- 
ume by their own efforts. Talking, jesting 
and whistling, the column marched past the 
scene of the first day’s fighting, and laughed 
over the narrow escapes from death which 
they had experienced. A friendly, honest, 
jovial lot, all seemed happy and care-free ex- 
cept Jackson ; for, despite the silence of Doug- 
las Atwell and Klondyke Jones, small frag- 
ments of evidence had been accidentally 
brought to light which threw some doubts 
upon the truthfulness of Jackson’s story to 
Corporal Casey, and Jackson was but coolly 
received by his college friends, who, in com- 
mon with their rough comrades, heartily de- 
spised a shirk. 

The regiment marched through the city^ 
out past Sampolac, and took the road to La 
Loma Church, where it marched into its tem- 
porary position as part of the line facing 
Caloocan. 

The town in front was strongly occupied by 
the In-surgents, whose numbers were rap- 
idly increasing by reinforcements from the 
north, and preparations were already in 


TO WEST POINT 


105 

progress for making a vigorous assault upon 
them ; but some days’ delay were necessary to 
bring up rations, ammunitions, etc., and to ar- 
range the position of the troops upon the 
line. 

Lieutenant Milton took advantage of the 
delay by ordering out his two young recruits 
for instruction in bayonet drill and the man- 
ual of arms. In these accomplishments, 
Douglas Atwell and Arthur Kelton were as 
yet hopelessly deficient ; but they were apt, 
intelligent, and willing — not only willing, but 
eager to learn ; and Corporal Casey, the exact- 
ing martinet, was secretly proud of their 
work, though his face never permitted itself 
to betray more than qualified approval. 
That the term ‘‘ recruit,” would disappear 
from their names as soon as they were re- 
ported fit for the company,” was sufficent to 
spur their ambition were they not already of 
the mettle which derives pleasure from the 
faithful performance of duty for the pure love 
of serving faithfully. 

But to Douglas Atwell the bayonet drill 
possessed a thrilling interest. Two days be- 
fore he had stood upon the threshold of the 


io6 WINNING HIS WAY 

native shack when Bill Smathers had leaped 
into the midst of the bolomen, hurling them 
to the floor with two wonderful, sweeping 
blows of his rifle, and these motions were 
taught in the bayonet exercises. 

That dexterity in the use of the rifle Bill 
Smathers had acquired by years of patient 
practice, but Douglas hoped, by assiduous la- 
bor, to attain to his comrade’s wonderful agil- 
ity and skill. 

Babong, the Igorrote, watched the drill 
with much interest. He had been practically 
released from all restraint, and, as Beddy Fa- 
gin’s assistant, gladly served the company in 
place of one of the Chinese coolies who had 
disappeared when the regiment marched for 
La Loma. 

Babong belonged to a wild and untamed 
race. When a certain red flower bloomed in 
the springtime it had been the custom of his 
forefathers to go forth man-hunting, and he 
was most honored among his people who 
brought back at nightfall the greatest num- 
ber of human heads as a sign of his bravery ; 
and though this custom was rapidly giving 
way before the progress of civilization, yet 


TO WEST POINT 


107 

Babong’s heart still throbbed with delight at 
the spectacle of a duel with stabbing or cut- 
ting weapons. Now, squatting on his heels, 
he uttered low exclamations of approval as 
Douglas danced backward and forward, thrust, 
parried, and lunged, or shot the butt of his 
rifle to the front and rear at an imaginary 
enemy. 

As the drill closed, Babong jumped to his 
feet, and ran forward with a light piece of 
bamboo in his hand, and crossing it on Doug- 
las Atwell’s rifle, he assumed the attitude of 
a boloman preparing for an attack. 

“ Go ahead, rookie, give him a fight,” 
shouted some of the men, and Douglas 
dropped his rifle to the guard.” 

Alang ! ” sang the Igorrote — or some sim- 
ilar sound — the war cry of the head hunters. 

He rasped his imitation bolo along the rifle 
of his opponent for an instant, and then with 
wonderful quickness, dropped beneath the re- 
cruit’s awkward guard, and sprang forward. 

Only by the most desperate effort did 
Douglas prevent the “ bolo ” from touching 
his body, and forgetting the fact that his op- 
ponent was unprotected, he lunged out des- 


io8 WINNING HIS WAY 

perately with his bayoneted rifle ; but Bab- 
ong sprang aside with the lightness of a cat. 
With his left hand he seized the extended 
rifle and jerked it forward, while his right de- 
scribed a lightning circle, and the “ bolo 
rested on the side of Douglas Atwelhs neck. 

A shout of applause greeted the Igorrote^s 
victory, and Reddy Fagin slapped him on the 
back and offered to bet his next month’s pay on 
the Igorrote against any man in the company. 

Still wondering how it had happened, 
Douglas felt himself suddenly thrust aside, 
his rifle snapped from his hands, and the 
‘‘ Queer Fellow ” was in his place facing the 
Igorrote. Uttering the shrill war-whoop of the 
Sioux Indians to which his ears had listened 
on many a bloody fleld of the West, the Queer 
Fellow ” crouched into position preparatory to 
a bayonet encounter. 

Babong looked up into the face of the flerce 
Americano who, in the jungle in front of 
blockhouse No. 14, had flung him about like 
a straw in the embrace of a hurricane ; but 
the success of the first encounter had fired his 
blood. On he came to the attack, and twice 
Bill Smathers retreated, stopping the blows 



A SHOUT OF APPLAUSE GREETED 
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TO WEST POINT 


109 

upon his rifle, and each time lowering his 
guard to invite a blow at the head. Seeing 
the opening, Babong sprang in, and swung 
his “ bolo.’' Up went the “ Queer Fellow's " 
rifle, as he sprang forward to meet the attack, 
and as the bamboo splintered upon the rifle, 
Babong rolled upon his back with such force 
that his heels rose in the air. 

Babong sat up and rubbed his head in a 
perplexed manner, while the company laughed 
and shouted itself hoarse. Rising, Babong 
surveyed his strange opponent, who still 
crouched over his rifle, measuring the Igorrote 
over the point of his bayonet. Many a time 
in flerce combat in the mountain trails, Bab- 
ong had looked down upon the dead face of 
his antagonist, and never before had he been 
forced to accept defeat. 

Go at 'im, Bab," shouted Reddy Fagin, 
thrusting a new bamboo stick into the Igor- 
rote's hand. Climb 'im, Bab, as if he wuz 
a cocoanut tree. Alang ! " 

Babong slowly resumed his position, but 
this time he moved lightly, cautiously ,r— as 
the mongoose moves about the hooded cobra 
whose strike he hopes to draw. The company 


I lO 


WINNING HIS WAY 


had formed a circle about the contestants, and 
the number of spectators had been augmented 
by the coolies from the kitchen. Unobserved 
by the men, a Chinese fruit vender, wander- 
ing along the line, had joined the coolies. 
He carried a small basket of fruit, slung by a 
tape from his neck, but his interest in the sale 
of his stock had suddenly vanished. He 
questioned the coolies about the Igorrote in 
the arena, and then stood with his arms folded 
across his chest, absorbed in the spectacle. 

The contestants, still maneuvring for an 
opening, had worked over near him, and as 
Babong looked over his opponent’s rifle, he 
saw the glittering eyes of the Chinese fruit 
vender upon him. 

Babong stood still ; his bamboo point 
dropped to the earth, and he turned away 
and squatted upon his haunches, and no 
amount of urging could induce him to resume 
the engagement. 

The Chinese fruit vender had gone as 
naturally and as suddenly as he had come, 
and the company dispersed, wondering what 
had happened to Bab t’ make him slump 
like a whipped cur.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


BABONG SERVES UNCLE SAM 

Fred Russell had been a close spectator of 
what had occurred, and his interest was thor- 
oughly aroused, for he felt that a matter of 
unusual importance was involved in the inci- 
dent. 

“ Douglas,’^ said he as he laid his hand 
gently on the young man^s shoulder, do you 
know why Bab behaved so strangely ? ’’ 

No, I canT imagine,” answered the boy 
blushing, for it was the first time that Russell 
had addressed him in this friendly and famil- 
iar manner, and though pleased, he was like- 
wise embarrassed. 

Well,” continued Russell, I happened to 
be standing close to the coolies when a China- 
man joined them, ostensibly to watch the fun. 
He had a little basket of fruit slung about his 
neck, but no real fruit vender would come out 
with that five pound load. He was not a 
full-blood — a Chinese mestizo, apparently, 


III 


I 12 


WINNING HIS WAY 


and one of some standing, for his hands were 
as fine and delicate as a woman’s. I saw him 
talking to the coolies, and clearly he was ask- 
ing questions about Bab. No doubt he found 
out that Bab was not a prisoner, but was 
working for us and was willing and anxious 
to stay. Bab recognized him sure as fate. 
There is no doubt that startled look indicated 
some past relationship between himself and 
that slick Chino which Bab would like to 
forget.” 

“ And what conclusion do you arrive at? ” 
queried Douglas, deeply interested. 

“ Firstly, that the Chino is a spy — probably 
an Insurgent officer ctf some rank. It is well 
known now that the Insurgents are one day 
with us as innocent civilians in white, and the 
next day they are in front of us either in uni- 
form or in white, and that every day they 
openly boast of the duplicity they can prac- 
tice with perfect impunity on the ‘ fool 
Americanos.’ 

Secondly, let us adjourn to the ‘ sitio de 
Bab ’ (Bab’s roost) and hold a post-mortem on 
the ‘ cuerpo ’ ” (body). 

Good, but we will have to probe gently,” 


TO WEST POINT 


113 


responded Douglas, as they started off to- 
gether toward the kitchen to which Bab had 
retired. 

Babong was discovered scouring the kitchen 
pans with a bamboo stick daubed with sand, and 
the perspiration which stood out on his fore- 
head indicated a state of great mental pertur- 
bation. Russell first interviewed the Chinos, 
who, true to their kind, professed complete 
ignorance, denied that they had ever seen a 
fruit vender, and finally admitted everything 
that Russell had suspected. 

He then secured a rifle, fixed the bayonet, 
and faced Douglas, who began an awkward 
imitation of the Igorrote^s motions. 

Milord smiles,’^ said he, as Babong lay 
down his work and turned an amused look 
upon the clumsy imitators in his beloved art. 
At last he rose and began showing Douglas 
how to use the bolo. Thus the opportunity 
came, and Russell led him dexterously on. 

Babong hesitated no longer, for he had 
finally resolved to cast his lot with the 
Americans. 

Pulling off the bandage that he wore about 
his head, his long black hair fell in shaggy 


WINNING HIS WAY 


114 

ringlets about his ears, and pointing proudly 
to these distinctive locks, he said, “ Igorrote ; 
and raising his hand to the north he 
indicated his native mountains. By signs, 
symbols and gestures, he managed to convey 
the impression that the Chinese fruit vender 
was the “ Coronel de Insurrectos '' who had 
drafted him for service in the Insurgent 
ranks, who had that day discovered his will- 
ing service in the American camp, and had 
then signaled him over Bill Smathers' 
shoulder that he, Babong, must die. 

I am not surprised that the poor Igorrote 
wilted,’’ said Russell. I have read of many 
cases of the long pursuit and final assassina- 
tion of natives who have been condemned by 
the secret societies. His only hope now is in 
sticking to the Americans.” 

Babong looked appealingly from one to 
the other, and encouraged by the friendly 
look in their fearless faces, his courage re- 
turned. 

He opened a small pouch which he usually 
carried on a belt about his waist, and drew 
forth a small object wrapped in a banana leaf 
This he laid upon a bench and unfolded with 


TO WEST POINT 


115 

an anxiety that indicated an expectation 
of important developments. Beneath the 
banana leaf was a second covering — a piece of 
the parched skin of a python, and within was 
a small piece of quartz rock through which 
ran a thread-like stain of the red oxide of 
iron. Babong scrutinized it carefully before 
the light and then turned a reassured face to 
his very interested audience. The stone had 
conveyed a message of safety to Babong, for 
this was his anting-anting. He clasped it to 
his heart, and shook his fist in the direction 
in which the Insurgent spy had gone, for so 
long as his anting-anting showed the clear 
scarlet thread, like a living artery, it was 
Babong’s implicit faith that no harm could 
come to him. Either the stone or the skin of 
the python would have guaranteed him 
almost supreme protection, but possessing 
both, he felt himself invulnerable except 
against an enemy endowed with supernatural 
powers, provided he did not ignore or misin- 
terpret the warnings of his anting-anting. 

He had secured both these preciouslirophies 
under the most unusual circumstances. 
Alone and hungry in the mountains, he had 


WINNING HIS WAY 


1 16 

come suddenly upon a huge python. Escape 
was impossible ; either he or the python must 
die, and he had slain the monster reptile, 
had eaten his flesh, and had carried home the 
best steaks from his back to make a dainty 
flesh-pot for his aged parents. 

Again, when the “ red flower ” was in bloom, 
he had gone abroad and had been attacked by 
Bontoc, the most famous head hunter of an 
adjacent settlement, and though Bontoc was 
armed with a shield and protected by his en- 
chanted lance, yet Babong had slain him. 
The fight had occurred in the evening twilight. 
From the rocks on which his dead enemy lay, 
Babong broke off a fragment and carried it to 
his home, and in the morning, his eyes be- 
held the thin scarlet thread, the mystic sign, 
he believed, of his enemy’s life-blood. 

Babong quivered with excitement as he per- 
formed the pantomime by which his Ameri- 
can listeners were made to understand the 
two great occasions on which he had won his 
anting-anting. 

If Bab remains faithful to us, his belief 
in this anting-anting will lead him to do 
some wonderful things,” remarked Russell, 


TO WEST POINT 


117 


as Babong rolled up his precious charm, re- 
turned it to his pouch, and buckled on his 
belt. 

We must make him feel that we will pro- 
tect him from danger,’' responded Douglas, as 
he patted his rifle and indicated to Babong 
that they would flght for his safety. Babong 
nodded his head in grateful acknowledgment, 
and the two young Americans, pondering on 
the strange things they had seen and heard, 
left the Igorrote to his duties as Beddy Fagin’s 
assistant. 

Douglas Atwell was profoundly impressed 
by the events of the morning. Not only had 
he been permitted a glimpse into the wild and 
savage life of this oriental world, but he had 
been forced to realize that this wonderful 
Igorrote possessed a knowledge of an art 
which experience had already taught him 
would decide for life or death in a hand to 
hand encounter. 

During the days following these events, 
Douglas patiently waited about the kitchen 
until Reddy Fagin could dispense with the 
services of his assistant, and then, despite the 
languishing heat, he engaged Babong, as long 


ii8 WINNING HIS WAY 

as he would work, in fierce practice with the 
‘‘ bolos.’’ 

Every difficulty gives away before the 
genius for work, and Douglas Atwell found 
that he was rapidly acquiring the art which 
at first had seemed so difficult to master. The 
delay in completing the program of attack 
had given him three precious days for practice, 
and he now had Babong in front of his bay- 
onet driving him about the kitchen with such 
alacrity as to threaten the safety of the bean 
soup, when Corporal Casey appeared and 
ordered him V get ready fur a little brush 
wid th’ inimy.” 

Douglas promptly joined his squad, and in 
a few moments the regiment had taken its 
place in the trenches facing Caloocan. 

While hostilities had partially ceased on the 
line from which they had come, here the 
storm was gathering with redoubled energy. 
The whole line of railroad north of Manila 
lay through Insurgent territory, and each ar- 
riving train brought reinforcements from the 
north to swell the Insurgent ranks. Aguin- 
aldo, the Commander-in-Chief of the Insur- 
gent forces, was located at Malolos, the new 


TO WEST POINT 


119 

capital of the revolutionary government, and 
the Insurgent chieftain hoped to crush the 
American line before the arrival of reinforce- 
ments which were daily expected from the 
States. 

Unlike the field in front of blockhouse No. 
14, the country here was a fiat rice-field inter- 
sected here and there with a thin bamboo 
hedge, and terminating in a rather dense un- 
dergrowth in front of the city which the In- 
surgents held in strong numbers. 

All the arrangements for attack were com- 
plete on the afternoon of February 10th. From 
a high church tower communication was estab- 
lished between the army and the naval vessels 
lying close in to the shore at a point from 
which the roof-tops of Caloocan were visible. 

At about three o’clock the navy opened fire 
with their heavy guns, and the Third Artil- 
lery over on the left joined in the assault. 
The distant boom of the naval guns could be 
plainly heard, and the eye could follow the 
little thin blue line of smoke which followed 
the shell as it rose on its three-mile course and 
fell with terrific explosion somewhere along 
the Insurgent line. 


120 


WINNING HIS WAY 


For a half hour Douglas Atwell lay upon 
his arms, and watched the wonderful, spectac- 
ular scene, and then he heard the now familiar 
tones of the bugle, commanding an advance 
as the navy ceased firing. 

The crack of the rifle sounded puerile and 
toy-like as compared to that majestic roar by 
which it had been hoped to demoralize and 
stampede the Insurgent troops. Corporal 
Casey’s squad was advancing in fine order 
under its indefatigable leader, but as Douglas 
glanced along the swaying, curving line, he 
caught the eye of Fred Russell searching the 
ranks. 

We are all here,” said Russell, ‘‘ that is, 
Skaguay, Klondyke, me and the ' Queer Fel- 
low,’ and there is your friend, Kelton — but 
our dear college chum, Jackson, is absent. 
Went on sick report about twelve o’clock — 
the heat, you know.” 

“ Heat again,” thought Douglas, but he 
said nothing. Jackson was a boy, he thought, 
who might be left to his own devices. 

The line had advanced some distance, and 
the enemy’s bullets were raising the dust in 
spurts from the hard, baked rice-fields, and as 


TO WEST POINT 


I2I 


they rose, flattened and deformed, they whistled 
through the air with a most terrifying sound, 
but with each foot gained in advance, Douglas 
Atwell felt a flercer desire to close upon his 
enemy. He forgot his surroundings, his per- 
sonal dangers, and with mind keen upon the 
work before him, he fired with the discrimina- 
tion of a veteran. 

The lines had swept across the open rice- 
fields, and had penetrated the underbrush be- 
hind which the shacks of Caloocan lay clus- 
tered, when he felt a sharp grip upon his 
shoulder, and looked up into the face of Lieu- 
tenant Milton. 

“ Atwell,^’ said the young officer, go back 
to the trenches as fast as you can ; bring out 
the Chinos with the litter, and make them 
carry Sergeant Davis back to the dressing 
station. Be quick ! He is bleeding to 
death.’^ 

Douglas saluted, and dashed back across 
the rice-fields, determined to accomplish his 
mission at any cost. As he cleared the trench 
at a single bound, he found the Chinos hud- 
dled together, lying flat upon their faces. On 
he sped to the kitchen, and seized the com- 


122 


WINNING HIS WAY 


pany litter from the bull cart where Reddy 
Fagin and Sergeant Haller awaited the 
moment to advance. 

Come on, Reddy/^ shouted Douglas, as 
he gasped for breath, Sergeant Davis is 
wounded, and bleeding to death. Help me 
drive the Chinos forward with the litter, and 
when they come back, see that they get him 
to the doctor.” 

Reddy was beside^ him at a single bound, 
and together they rushed with the litter 
among the Chinos. 

‘‘ Git up here,” shouted Reddy, as he pulled 
two of the startled Chinos to their feet, “ git 
up an’ fight fur yer country.” 

“ Vamoosey ” (go ahead), shouted Douglas 
as he clapped the litter on the Chino’s shoul- 
der, and pressed home his meaning with the 
point of his hot rifle, while Reddy Fagin 
brandished a huge bolo which he had cap- 
tured in the assault on blockhouse No. 14. It 
was no time for formalities — a human life was 
in great peril. 

Yielding to the sudden onslaught, the 
Chinos jumped over the trench and ran to the 
front like stampeded deer, too frightened to 


TO WEST POINT 


123 


heed the bullets that swept the plain. It was 
a perilous dash, without the protection of even 
a shrub to afford a cover, but the space was 
crossed without harm, and Douglas regained 
the underbrush where he knew the body of 
the Sergeant would be found. 

After a few moments’ search he came upon 
the young collegian, lying in a pool of his 
blood. Laying him gently upon the litter, 
Douglas bound his wound as rapidly as he 
could, and then commanded the Chinos to re- 
turn with their burden, and though the bul- 
lets ripped through the dense foliage, the 
Chinos courageously lifted the body and started 
on the return trip across the bullet-swept rice- 
field. 

As the litter bearers vanished along the 
edge of the underbrush, Douglas was astounded 
to see the lithe figure of the Igorrote gliding 
toward him among the bamboo. He was 
equipped with canteen, belt, and Krag- Jorgen- 
sen rifle taken from a member of the company 
whose dead body lay upon the rice-fields. 

At sight of Douglas, Babong uttered the war- 
cry of the head hunters, and shaking out his 
long black hair, now freed of his head bandage, 


124 


WINNING HIS WAY 


he laid his hands upon his great chest and 
cried out exultingly, “ Me, Igorrote ; me, 
Americano ! ’’ 

There was a dignity in the bearing of this 
wild tribesman of the mountains which com- 
manded the respect of the chivalric young 
soldier, and Douglas Atwell extended his hand 
to grasp that of the fearless Igorrote who was 
about to risk his life in the American ranks. 

Douglas pointed toward the front from 
which the sounds of battle came to them, and 
the expression of his face asked the Igorrote 
if he wanted to join the strife. For answer 
Babong lead the way through the jungle with 
the lightness and noiselessness of a tiger on 
the track of his prey. 

The line had advanced to within 300 yards 
of the outskirts of the town, and Douglas and 
Babong joined it as the men rose to the charge, 
and swept like a tumultuous sea over the 
broken Insurgent line. 

High upon the captured trench Babong 
stood, shouting his fierce war-cry, shaking his 
black hair and firing upon the retreating 
enemy. 

The line forged forward into the town, and 


TO WEST POINT 


125 


fought from house to house, until the enemy 
was swept through the town and across the 
rice-fields to the north ; and everywhere 
Babong followed and fought with a reckless 
courage which challenged the admiration of 
the bravest in the ranks — for underneath the 
American cartridge belt was the pouch con- 
taining the magic quartz rock with its thread 
of scarlet. 

Babong had forever divorced himself from 
his race, though not from his tribe, and had 
irrevocably committed himself to the Amer- 
ican cause. 

When the regiment assembled in the town 
square, each company brought its Tagalog 
prisoners who had not been able to escape the 
valiant charge of the line. As they squatted 
on their haunches, their nervous eyes beheld 
the flowing locks of Babong who had fought 
with the Americans, and had helped to make 
them captive, and low down in their throats, 
as a fowl utters its warning of the presence of 
a hawk, a low guttural tone ran among the 
prisoners : — Igorrote ! Igorrote ! ’’ 

That night a council of Insurgent officers 
met within a block of corps headquarters in 


126 


WINNING HIS WAY 


the city of Manila. A Chinese mestizo, Colonel 
of guerrillas, presided at the meeting, and lis- 
tened, with glittering eyes, to the story of spies 
from Caloocan ; and then he designated three 
natives to accomplish the assassination of 
Babong, the Igorrote traitor. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE TKEE, THE MORO, AND THE LETTER 

Four days had passed since the capture of 
Caloocan, and events were developing rapidly. 
General MacArthur^s troops had enveloped the 
captured territory with a line of entrench- 
ments extending roughly from Malabon on the 
left to the pumping-station on the right, and 
he was now prepared to reconnoitre the coun- 
try in front, and to determine the enemy’s 
strength. 

In front of the American lines the Insur- 
gents labored assiduously upon a new system 
of intrenchments, while by night their prowl- 
ing bands harassed the outposts with a sniping 
fire. Each day had brought to the front more 
Insurgent troops to stem the American ad- 
vance, and their spirits ran high ; for Luna, 
the Ilocano, was among them, — Luna, the 
bravest fighter, the most intrepid leader in the 
Insurgent ranks. 


127 


WINNING HIS WAY 


1 28 

And now the time had come to reach out 
and grope along the enemy’s front for the 
point of greatest weakness, and then upon this 
point to drive home a fatal blow. 

Designated to execute the first part of this 

program, Company M, th Infantry, lay 

upon its arms at 3 : 00 A. m., on the morning 
of February 14th, and as the first gray streaks 
of dawn flickered in the east, the men crept 
over the trenches and moved out to the 
front. 

Bayonets and bayonet scabbards had been 
removed, and all the metallic contacts of the 
canteen and haversack had been wrapped in 
cloth to prevent the slightest noise ; but the 
American soldier is a frank, reckless, heavy- 
footed stumbler, who knows not the meaning 
of a creeping advance. The men fell head- 
long over the rice paddies, and their fearful 
tread seemed to shake the earth, but in spite 
of it all, the company safely crossed the open 
space in front of the lines, and reached a small 
ravine which led up close to the enemy’s 
works. Here the company awaited the dawn 
before attempting a further advance, and as 
the light began to creep through the dense 


TO WEST POINT 


1 29 

foliage, Lieutenant Milton once more led the 
way along the ravine. 

After fifteen minutes' cautious advance, he 
raised his hand to signal a halt. It was clear 
enough now to see that the company was on a 
trail that ran down the ravine to a clump of 
bamboo from which much tormenting fire had 
been poured into the workers on the trenches 
in the past three days. 

Lieutenant Milton now moved to the edge 
of the underbrush, and paused beside an im- 
mense tree, the top of which was visible for 
many miles around. Beyond lay an open 
space, rising to the position of the enemy's 
trenches, which were partially concealed be- 
hind a hedge of bamboo-trees and other small 
shrubbery. It was impossible to cross the 
open space unobserved, and yet Lieutenant 
Milton's position afforded a very imperfect 
view of the Insurgents' dispositions. 

Mebbe some un cud skin up thet 'ere 
tree," whispered Klondyke Jones, as he saw 
Lieutenant Milton surveying the huge trunk 
with its lowermost limbs swaying many feet 
above his reach. “ I've dumb harder uns than 
thet ten year ago, but th' ile's been sweated 


130 


WINNING HIS WAY 


an’ cooked out o’ my ole jints since I cum t’ 
this ’ere kintry, an’ there ain’t no use tryin’ 
anything like thet ’ere no more.” 

“ If you can hoist me to the lower limb, I 
think I can go the rest of the way,” quickly 
responded Douglas Atwell. 

Lieutenant Milton glanced at the eager boy. 
‘‘It is a dangerous feat,” said he in a low 
tone. “We are not more than 100 yards from 
the Insurgents, and you are likely to be dis- 
covered, and you know what discovery means 
at that range. If you are very anxious to go 
up, I will not prevent you, but should the en- 
emy open fire, don’t delay in getting down.” 

Douglas felt his face grow pale, and his fin- 
gers twitch as he hastily pulled off his shoes 
and laid aside his equipment. Then he un- 
buckled the slings from his canteen and 
haversack and wrapped them about his waist, 
and drawing a roll of paper and a lead pencil 
from his haversack, he thrust them into the 
front of his blue shirt. 

“ I’m ready,” said he, and without a word 
Klondyke Jones, Skaguay McFadden and 
young Kelton placed themselves below the 
limb of the tree. Lieutenant Milton handed 


TO WEST POINT 


131 

him a pair of field-glasses, and slinging these 
across his shoulder, he placed his feet in Kel- 
ton's hand, sprang to the shoulders of his 
comrades, and stood erect ; but the limb was 
still a little beyond his reach. 

“ Raise your right hand, Klondyke,"' said 
Douglas, and as the good “ole sojer obeyed, 
Douglas rested his feet in the strong uplifted 
palm, and sprang to the limb. Raising his 
feet forward and upward, he drew himself up 
across the limb, and crawled in close to the 
massive tree trunk, while his comrades 
dropped down below and very softly filled 
their magazines in readiness for any signs of 
activity in front. 

“ All right so far,^^ whispered Lieutenant 
Milton, “ go ahead.’^ 

Keeping as well concealed as possible, 
Douglas climbed from limb to limb until he 
had reached the highest point to which it was 
safe to go, and then he paused and looked out 
toward the enemy’s lines. 

The whole country lay revealed. There 
was the line of unfinished intrenchments pro- 
tecting thousands of sleeping Insurgents, 
while all along the line were little groups 


132 


WINNING HIS WAY 


squatted about steaming pots of rice which 
they were preparing for the morning meal. 

To the right, El Deposito was visible, and 
the winding course of the Pasig was clearly 
defined, though only at points could a 
glimpse be secured of the swift rushing stream. 
Even the position of the pumping-station, the 
San Mateo River, and the basin of the Laguna 
de Bay could be outlined, while on the left, 
the railroad, two brilliant lines of steel, glit- 
tered among the tropical foliage until it was 
swallowed up in the rougher country many 
miles to the north. 

Douglas Atwell gazed for one enraptured 
moment, and then, by means of the straps, he 
lashed himself to the limbs of the tree, and 
drew out his pad and pencil. One natural 
gift he possessed — he was a natural sketch 
artist. No one had taught him ; no other 
member of his family possessed the same 
faculty, and that “ Douglas had been born 
under a lucky star,” was the only explanation 
which had ever been offered to account for his 
genius. Sketching had been a means of 
amusement, a useless and unappreciated pas- 
time, by which he had entertained his boy 


TO WEST POINT 


133 

friends, with humorous studies of country 
life. But now he had a subject worthy of his 
best efforts, and with rapid masterful strokes 
he sketched the scene in front ; and could 
Douglas Atwell have looked into the future, 
he would have blessed the fate that had 
endowed him with this precious gift. 

The gaps in the unfinished line of intrench- 
ments had been plotted, the points of weak- 
ness laid bare, and the general landscape was 
nearly completed, when a sound from below 
attracted his attention. A native had sud- 
denly emerged from the underbrush on the 
left, had placed a bamboo ladder against the 
side of the tree, and was slowly ascending to 
the lower limbs. Apparently he was a sentry 
designated to take his post of observation in 
the tree-top. 

The man’s sudden appearance had taken all 
by surprise, and Douglas could see that 
his comrades were now waiting for the native 
to climb beyond the chance of escape. 

Douglas, breathlessly watching the ascent, 
forgot to properly guard all his paraphernalia, 
and Lieutenant Milton’s field-glasses slipped 
from his shoulder, and fell with a resounding 


134 


WINNING HIS WAY 


thump on the top of the native^s head. The 
blow overturned him, and he rolled to the 
ground, jumped to his feet, and before the 
astonished soldiers could secure him, he ran 
shouting toward the Insurgent trenches. 

It was not necessary to urge Douglas to de- 
scend. He was clambering from limb to 
limb with a haste that threatened a duplica- 
tion of the native’s tumble, when the Insur- 
gents swarmed over the trenches and opened 
fire upon the tree. 

Under the protection of the terrific fire 
which his comrades opened on the enemy, 
Douglas was able to make the perilous descent 
and to swing off in safety to Klondyke Jones’ 
arms ; and as he pulled on his shoes, the “ ole 
sojer” adjusted his equipments and stood 
waiting with his rifle. 

Magazine’s full, so’s th’ chamber.” 

“ Thank you, Klondyke,” returned Douglas 
as he sprang into his place and opened fire ; 
but despite the energy of the squad, it was 
impossible to create the impression of an 
attack by a large force, and the Insurgents 
swung out from the right and left, enveloping 
the flanks. 


TO WEST POINT 


^35 


Lieutenant Milton gave the signal to retire. 
Back through the ravine the company ran, 
but once upon the open, they re-formed and 
retired by platoons in perfect and machine- 
like order. 

Good exercise ’fore breakfast, an’ no one 
hurt,” said Klondyke, as the company 
marched back across the trenches. ‘‘ Thet 
’ere’s th’ right kind o’ a fight. It’s like 4th o’ 
July in a mining town ’cept thet then there’d 
be buryin’ on both sides.” 

‘‘Klondyke,” said Douglas, “did you see 
that fellow who came out with spangles all 
over his body ? ” 

“ Yes. Thet ’ere’s a coat o’ mail, an’ th’ 
chap must be a Moro. He had a helmet, 
shield, and a big bolo as bright as a razor, an’ 
he cum chargin’ along as if he wuz lookin’ fur 
b’ar. They say them fellers is dangerous, an’ 
he looked it. I’ve heard thet when they git 
in hard luck, they take an oath t’ run amuck, 
an’ t’ die wallowin’ in Christian blood. The 
number o’ Spaniards they’ve slashed up would 
fill a barn.” 

Corporal Casey interrupted this interesting 
narrative by directing Atwell to report to 


136 WINNING HIS WAY 

Lieutenant Milton at his tent. Douglas 
readily guessed the subject on which his com- 
pany commander desired to see him, and 
entered the tent with his sketch in his hand. 

‘‘ I am ready now to hear your report,’’ said 
Lieutenant Milton. ^‘Tell me exactly what 
you saw.” 

Douglas described the scene in clear, brief 
terms, and then added, I sketched the scene 
on this sheet of paper which I took up with 
me. If it is of any use I can complete it in 
ink, and make the important features a little 
more pronounced.” 

As Lieutenant Milton’s eyes ran over the 
paper his face took on an expression of deep 
interest. He had performed work at West 
Point which had won him high rank in his 
class as a draftsman, but his very best efforts 
were poor as compared to this hasty sketch 
from a tree-top. 

Where did you learn to do this work ? ” 
he asked after several minutes’ close observa- 
tion of the unfinished map. 

I never learned at all, sir. I have always 
been able to sketch, I think.” 

“ Sign your name and rank across the cor- 


TO WEST POINT 


137 


ner of the map, and I will forward it with my 
report to General MacArthur, and will invite 
attention to the service you have performed. 
I congratulate you, Atwell. Try to maintain 
the high standard you have set.’’ 

“ I will try, sir,” said Douglas simply, as he 
saluted and turned away, but his heart was 
thrilled with rapture, for there was no other 
person in the world whose esteem he more 
highly prized than that of the gallant little 
officer who had led the assault on blockhouse 
No. 14. 

The company was at breakfast when Doug- 
las returned, and after the meal the tired men 
lay down in their tents, and slept until nearly 
midday. 

There was no longer any fire from the bam- 
boo thicket, but as the sun crept down toward 
the western horizon in the afternoon, a small 
black speck was visible in the tree-top from 
which Douglas Atwell had drawn his sketch 
that morning. From this point of vantage, a 
native outlook was searching the American 
camp with a powerful field-glass, or watching 
for signals from the church towers of Manila. 

Outposts were to be posted at 7:00 p. m., 


138 WINNING HIS WAY 

and Private Atwell was once more on the ros- 
ter for that duty ; but as he fell in with his 
comrades, he no longer felt the trepidation of 
a young recruit, but rather the confidence of 
a veteran, for men age rapidly on battle- 
fields. 

After inspecting the detail. Lieutenant Mil- 
ton addressed the men as follows : — “ The 
position of the outposts will be changed for 
to-night, as I am confident the enemy has 
located the positions of the old ones. I will 
accompany the details to the new posts, and I 
want to impress upon you that unusual vigi- 
lance will be necessary. The company had to 
retreat under fire this morning, and though 
we were under orders to do so, the natives 
will gain a lot of confidence, and bands are 
sure to be prowling about to-night. Among 
the Insurgents, a Moro in coat of mail was 
seen by many in the company, and he is lia- 
ble to be looking for trouble. So exercise 
great caution.” 

As Douglas Atwell marched across the 
trenches, he was surprised to see Jackson 
among the rest. The surgeon had returned 
him to duty. Lieutenant Milton had relieved 


TO WEST POINT 


139 


him as company clerk, and he was therefore 
compelled to face the routine of the private in 
ranks. 

Lieutenant Milton accompanied Corporal 
Casey's outpost along the usual path, but 100 
yards out, he inclined to the left, and placed 
the outpost in a small group of banana-trees, 
and ordered the corporal to place the sentinel 
fifty yards to the front on a trail that led to 
the ravine which the company had explored 
that morning. 

Kelton was the first sentinel on post, and 
he was to be followed by Jackson and Atwell 
in the order named. 

Corporal Casey ordered his men to sleep 
while he went forward to watch with Kelton, 
while Klondyke Jones was to relieve the Cor- 
poral at midnight. 

The first two hours passed very quietly, and 
Kelton was relieved by Jackson at 9 : 30 p. m. 
Douglas dreamily remembered the young col- 
legian buckling fast his cartridge belt as 
Jackson went on post, and then he fell off 
into sound sleep. His next impression was 
that of some one screaming in a mortal agony 
of fear, and he sprang to his feet, rifle in 


140 


WINNING HIS WAY 


hand, and dashed toward the spot where 
Jackson had gone on post. 

Again came the scream, and he was con- 
scious of a rush of feet toward him in the 
darkness. In the dim light he discerned 
Jackson running for his life, pursued by a 
mob of bolomen ; and among the pursuers, 
was the Moro in coat of mail, helmet, shield 
and kampilan.^ 

Atwell fired and some one fell, just as the 
flying mob reached him, and he saw the 
wicked bolos cutting at the frantic soldier. 
In another instant Jackson must surely be 
killed. 

In sheer desperation, Douglas sprang in 
front of the pursuers, and with all his 
strength, he swung the butt of his rifle. The 
blow landed, but he was knocked down by 
the tumbling native, and the rest passed him. 
As he rose to his feet, he heard the shots of 
Corporal Casey, Klondyke Jones, and Kelton, 
as they opened fire on the remnants of the 
pursuing mob ; and before him stood the 
Moro, crouching, as Babong was wont to do ; 
but instead of the harmless bamboo stick, the 

* Kampilan — A long, heavy, straight-edged weapon. 


TO WEST POINT 


141 

Moro held in his hand the razor-edged kam- 
pilan, with one blow of which he could sever 
the American’s head from his body. 

Douglas might have shouted for help as 
Jackson had done, but instead he sprang at 
the Moro with his bayoneted rifle, and 
lunged with such fury that the native re- 
treated, evading each lunge with the agility 
of a cat. But once did the Moro attempt to 
swing his kampilan, and then he saved him- 
self from the return thrust, only by dexter- 
ously catching the point of Atwell’s bayonet 
on the edge of his shield. 

Douglas had now forced him back to the 
perpendicular bank of the little stream which 
the trail crossed, and one more desperate eflbrt 
would end the duel. With all his energy 
Douglas threw himself behind a lunge 
straight at the chest. The blow was caught 
upon the centre of the shield, but the Moro 
was hurled backward over the bank, and his 
kampilan dropped at the young soldier’s feet. 
Seizing the weapon, Douglas waited for some 
sign of the whereabouts of his enemy, but all 
was quiet below. Douglas had won the first 
encounter with an enemy whom he would 


142 


WINNING HIS WAY 


soon learn to fear as no other man in the 
Philippine Islands. 

As Douglas walked back toward the posi- 
tion of the outpost, he heard the anxious 
queries of Corporal Casey : — “ Where’s At- 
well ? Where did the lad go ? ” 

“ Sneaked,” he heard Jackson say. “ I saw 
him hiking out when the bolomen drove me 
in. You better look in the bushes.” 

“ Thet ’ere’s a lie, Jackson, an’ ye know it. 
I seen Atwell pitchin’ fur th’ bolomen when 
ye wuz squawkin’ like a scared hen. If At- 
well ain’t here, he’s hurt, an’ ye think he’s 
hurt, an’ thet’s why ye dare say he sneaked.” 

“ I am here, Jackson,” said Douglas as he 
came up to the group, and tossed the captured 
kampilan upon the ground. ^ Sneaked ’ is a 
nasty word. I wouldn’t use it if I were you.” 
Turning to Corporal Casey, he added, “ There 
is a wounded native back there. Corporal.” 

The varmint doesn’t deserve bein’ looked 
afther, but anyway, Kelton, you an’ Jones go 
an’ help Atwell fetch ’im in, an’ we’ll see if 
there’s life yit in ’im.” 

The trio started off to obey the order, and 
soon found the native unconscious, but still 


TO WEST POINT 


143 


alive. As Jones and Kelton picked him up, 
a small parcel of letters fell from the pocket 
of his white camisa, and Douglas picked them 
up, thrust them into his pocket, and lent a 
helping hand to his comrades. The wounded 
native was dressed entirely in white and bore 
no indications of belonging to the armed In- 
surgent forces ; but the Americans had long 
since learned that friendly garments were no 
sign of friendship among the natives, but 
rather added to the danger of an enemy.' 

When the group rejoined the Corporal, a 
detachment had arrived from the company to 
give support to the outpost, but their services 
were not needed, and the wounded man was 
turned over to them to be conveyed to the 
hospital. 

All was now quiet along the line, and the 
rest of the night was spent in eager expect- 
ancy but without unusual incident. 

Douglas completely forgot the parcel of let- 
ters that had fallen from the native’s pocket, 
until he had been relieved from duty the next 
morning, and was about to enjoy a few hours 
of well earned sleep. Then, he drowsily drew 
the parcel from his pocket, and wondered 


144 


WINNING HIS WAY 


what he was to do with the matter, as the 
owner had expired during the night without 
regaining consciousness. 

Douglas glanced over the papers. There 
was a cedula, or registration card, and a pass 
in which the native declared himself to be a 
peace-loving subject of Uncle Sam ; next, was 
a document with an official look but ap- 
parently written in the incomprehensible 
Tagalog language. 

The last article was a sealed envelope, but 
the address across the face sent a thrill ting- 
ling into the finger-tips of the young soldier. 
The envelope read : — 

Senor Quicoy Siongco, 

Chinese Merchant, 

Escolta, Manila. 

Douglas hesitated for a moment, and then 
tore open the letter, and drew forth a sheet of 
paper similar to that ordinarily used by the 
company. The letter ran as follows : — 

In Camp near La Loma, Feb, 13, 
Colonel Quicoy Siongco : 

Meet me, if you can, on February 22d, 
at midnight on the Lico Road, in reer of our 


TO WEST POINT 


H5 

lines. Bring six of your men all dressed as 
laborers of some sort, and I will conduct you 
to a tent where you may secure five of the 
company rifles, and several thousand rounds 
of ammunition. 

No danger. Bring the necessary funds for 
this service. 

Very respectfully, 

Douglas Atwell, 
Private, Co. M, th Inf. 

The perspiration stood out in big drops on 
the young soldier’s forehead as he carefully 
folded this letter and pinned it inside his blue 
flannel shirt. 


CHAPTER X 


REVELATIONS AND DOUBTS 

For hours, Douglas Atwell lay with aching 
head, vainly striving to formulate a plan of 
action. As yet, only one fact was clear — that 
some one had assumed his name, and was 
holding a traitorous correspondence with the 
enemy ; but was the assumption of his name 
merely for the purpose of concealing the iden- 
tity of the culprit, or for the purpose of bring- 
ing about the capture of this letter, thus 
branding Douglas as the traitor? 

Had the letter fallen into the hands of any 
other American soldier what would have been 
the consequence? This thought made the 
young man tremble with anxiety, for the ex- 
istence of one letter in the hands of the 
enemy suggested the existence of others which 
a lucky shot, or the deliberate efforts of the 
conspirator might bring to light. 

In vain he tried to sleep, but his brain was 
burning, his mind repeating over and over 

146 


TO WEST POINT 


147 


again the words of the miserable letter which 
he had carefully tucked away in the folds of 
his blue-flannel shirt. He listened intently 
to every footstep that approached, half expect- 
ing a detail from the guard to pounce upon 
him, and drag him away to the guard-house ; 
and if this should happen, his present atti- 
• tude of concealing the captured letters would 
stand as incriminating evidence against him. 
If only as a protection against accusation, he 
realized that he must confide in a friend, and 
with this intention, he rose and walked to the 
tent of Fred Russell. 

“ Hello, Douglas,” said he cheerfully, I 
hear you had a jolly time last night while 
on guard. Our old friend, Leland Carlysle, 
held up the honor of his alma mater, I 
hear, in his usual excellent form. They tell 
me you ran amuck, and had a little affair with 
the bayonets a la Babong. How about it? ” 
Yes; yes, we had a lively night,” said 
Douglas rather impatiently, for the thought 
of the letter had driven every other impression 
from his mind, but I have something im- 
portant to tell you. Can you spare me a few 
moments ? ” 


148 WINNING HIS WAY 

A week, if you like.’^ 

Assuring himself that no one was about, 
Douglas related the manner in which he had 
come into possession of the parcel of letters, 
and then handed to Russell the crumpled 
note which had caused him so much mental 
anguish. 

When the young collegian had completed 
the perusal of the note, he stroked his chin 
and smiled. 

“ Is there any one who has a grudge against 
you ? ” 

Yes, but nothing to warrant treachery of 
that sort.^’ 

There are some people whom I know who 
have a habit of doing nasty things, and of 
thinking of the consequences afterward ; but 
perhaps you have some way of tracing the 
writer. Did you find any other papers on 
the native? ” 

“ Yes,^' said Douglas anxiously, as he pro- 
duced the rest of the documents, ‘‘ but I did 
not think them of any importance.” 

Russell read the matter over very carefully, 
wrapped the papers in a folder, and wrote 
across the back ; Papers believed to be of 


TO WEST POINT 


149 


importance found on the body of an Insurgent 
who was killed on the night of February 14th, 
while he was trying to get through the lines.” 

Now, take them to Lieutenant Milton, and 
tell him that you believe the papers to be very 
important, and tell him how they came into 
your possession. Just one moment, son,” con- 
tinued Russell, while I write down for future 
reference the names on the pass, cedula, etc. 
There, now, I wouldn’t say anything to Lieu- 
tenant Milton about that letter. We can settle 
that among ourselves.” 

When Douglas returned from his interview 
with the company commander, Russell had 
endorsed on the back of the letter a certificate 
of the time and circumstances under which 
the letter had been shown him, and had signed 
it with his official signature. 

“ Should any question arise in the future as 
to your conduct,” said he, that will show 
how you stood on the matter. Now, tell me 
what Lieutenant Milton did.” 

He looked over the papers,” said Douglas, 
put them in an envelope, and sent them for- 
ward with a courier who was ready to leave 
with mail for Manila.” 


150 


WINNING HIS WAY 


“ Good,” said Russell. '' If the papers con- 
tain anything of importance the translation 
will bring it out. Now, let us look at some of 
the features of the case,” said Russell, as he 
looked over what he had written in his note- 
book. “ Quicoy Siongco. That sounds like 
chop-sticks, donT you think ? Doesn’t Quicoy 
Siongco, Chinese merchant, strike you as an 
old acquaintance ? ” 

“ I thought of the Chinese fruit-seller,” an- 
swered Douglas, ‘‘ the fellow who nearly turned 
Babong white with fright the day he was hav- 
ing a bayonet bout with the ‘ Queer Fellow.’ ” 

“ The very man,” responded Russell, and 
now we have the gentleman’s address. More- 
over, we have the name on that pass, Ramon 
Pacheco, and the address of the alleged owner 
appears on the cedula. That is a working 
basis, and we may be able to do a little investi- 
gation on our own account.” 

Douglas listened with rapt attention, and 
his spirits gradually rose as the situation 
changed from a trembling defensive to an 
energetic aggressive. He felt no desire to 
punish, but rather an overpowering indigna- 
tion, and a fierce purpose of confronting the 


TO WEST POINT 


151 

author of this piece of perfidy with the evi- 
dence of his crimes, and of thus holding him 
powerless to do further harm. 

Let us ask Lieutenant Milton for per- 
mission to go into Manila with the next bull 
cart train,’’ he suggested eagerly. Reddy 
Fagin tells me there will be one going in on the 
22d. It will stay over night, and we might 
run that Chino down and force him to tell us 
the truth.” 

That will be Wednesday night,” said Rus- 
sell, “ the night on which Douglas Atwell is 
to meet Col. Quicoy Siongco on the Lico 
Road, and betray the rifies into his possession. 
You have too many engagements.” 

‘‘ Then we might get Klondyke to come out 
with us, and hold a reception for that Chino 
and his friends before — ^^before he gets there.” 
Douglas could not say the name that naturally 
rose to his lips. Better still,” he went on 
enthusiastically, we might capture the con- 
spirator red-handed, and settle the matter with 
him right there.” 

Russell shook his head. In my judg- 
ment,” said he, the letter is a mere blind. 
No man in the company would betray arms 


152 


WINNING HIS WAY 


into the hands of the enemy to be used against 
us ; but if an Insurgent were to be captured 
with such a letter on his person, it would cer- 
tainly prove a serious matter for the alleged 
writer. The man who wrote the letter would 
have no hesitation in sacrificing an Insurgent 
in order to gratify his love for you.” 

“ Then you think there is no chance of suc- 
cess on the Lico Road, and that we better look 
for the Chino in Manila? ” 

“ Exactly. That slick Chino is not risking 
his precious skin by a midnight affair on the 
road. If the engagement is genuine, he would 
have some paid thug there to do his dirty 
work. Moreover, I don’t believe the writer 
had any intention of keeping the engagement, 
and we would not be able to confirm our sus- 
picion ; we would reveal our knowledge, and 
not discover anything incriminating. By the 
way, did you notice the manner in which the 
word, ^ rear,’ is spelled in the note? ” 

“ Yes, I was about to call your attention 
to it.” 

Well, you’d better go back to your tent as 
if nothing had happened, and take a good 
sleep. Leave the letter with me and I will 


TO WEST POINT 


153 


think it over at my leisure, but from present 
indications I think that you need have no fear 
for the outcome.’^ 

“ Thank you, Russell,” said Douglas, as he 
shook the young collegian’s hand. “ I am 
heartily grateful to you.” 

Relieved from the suspense and anxiety 
which had destroyed his peace of mind, Doug- 
las now slept not only throughout the hot, 
sweltering afternoon, but also through the 
night, and awoke on the morning of February 
16 th refreshed, and eager to meet any dangers 
and difficulties the future might hold in store 
for him. 

The sunlight came slantingly through the 
tropical foliage, and he filled his chest with 
the sweet morning air which drifted lazily 
through the palm groves. Within ten paces 
of him lay Jackson, sleeping as softly as a 
child, his handsome face surmounted with a 
mass of wavy brown hair which the breeze 
gently stirred. A more finely chiseled face 
Douglas thought he had never seen, and as he 
gazed he felt a pang that he had ever mentally 
accused this handsome boy, and earnestly hoped 
that his suspicions might never be confirmed. 


WINNING HIS WAY 


154 

A newsboy was approaching from the direc- 
tion of Manila, and Douglas met him at the 
edge of the encampment and purchased a 
morning paper. A glaring headline ran across 
the front of the page : 

“ An Attempt to Burn the City^ and to 

sinate the European Population^ Crushed 
by the Provost Guard. 

Insurgent Letter^ Commanding the Slaugh- 
ter of All White Men, Women, and Chil- 
dren, Captured by the Vigilant American 
Soldiers in the Nick of Time. 

“ Colonel Quicoy Siongco, a Chinese Mestizo, 
Leader of the Incendiaries, Barely Es- 
caped Over the Back Eence of His Shack. 

“ Translation of a Tagalog Document Eound 
on the Body of an Insurgent Killed by 
the Outpost of Company M, th In- 

fantry, on the Night of Eebruary 14th, 
Revealed the Details of the Eiendish Con- 
spiracy, and Led to the Effort to Capture 
this Dangerous Chinese Conspirator. 

Douglas Atwell stood transfixed. This, then, 
was the document which he had passed over so 
carelessly, which, but for Fred Russell, might 
never have been forwarded to the proper au- 
thorities. 


TO WEST POINT 


155 


The story read like a fairy tale. “ From the 
date on which the outbreak occurred,” the 
narrative ran, “ the restless population of 
Manila has given the government the gravest 
concern. Every night flames can be seen 
shooting up from the miserable shacks on the 
outskirts of the city where the ununiformed 
marauders lurk in ambush, and plot atrocities. 
Nearly every morning, the dead bodies of as- 
sassinated natives are found in the plundered 
shacks, or floating down the Pasig to the Bay. 

“ It is the time of the ‘ venganza ’ (venge- 
ance) when every ruffian settles his private 
grievances by the assassination of his adversary. 

Moreover, in order to provide for the food 
supply of this immense population, trade on 
the Pasig has been resumed, thus affording an 
avenue to Manila for the food products of the 
Laguna de Bay district. Passes and identifi- 
cation cards are necessary to pass the guards 
on the river and the thoroughfares, but when 
thousands come and go, no one can say that 
the man who goes beyond the lines is he who 
returns to the city of Manila. Certain that 
their Katipunan brethren will not betray 
them, Insurgent spies freely cross the Amer- 


156 WINNING HIS WAY 

ican lines under the protection of the cards 
and passes which a lenient government had 
furnished their confederates in Manila. 

Protected in this manner an Insurgent, 
bearing an order to burn the city and to assas- 
sinate the European population, attempted to 
steal through the lines near Caloocan, on the 
night of February 14th.’’ 

Here followed an account of the outpost 
encounter, in which Douglas Atwell saw him- 
self depicted as a hero without peer. 

The translation of the document taken 
from the dead body of the Insurgent,” con- 
tinued the article, revealed its barbarous 
character, but this is not the only source from 
which the government secured the same in- 
formation. 

‘‘ Every night for the last week, ban cos have 
been gliding through the Vitas Swamp, each 
banco bearing its half-naked, silent group of 
bolomen, or riflemen, charged with the de- 
struction of the city and its white inhabitants. 
A member of the Secret Service Corps dis- 
covered an Insurgent officer landing from one 
of these bancos, traced him to the city, and 
caused his arrest by the Provost Guard. Upon 


TO WEST POINT 


157 


the Insurgent was found a document in Taga- 
log addressed to Sehor Quicoy Siongco, Chinese 
Merchant. This paper, and the one captured 
at Caloocan by the plucky sentry, reached 
headquarters at about the same time, and the 
translations were found to read as follows : 

^ ^ 

^ First. You will so dispose that at eight 
o’clock at night the individuals of the terri- 
torial militia at your order will be found 
united in all the streets of San Pedro armed 
with their holes and revolvers and guns and 
ammunition, if convenient. 

“ ‘ Second. Philippine families only will be 
respected. They should not be molested, but 
all other individuals, of whatever race they 
may be, will be exterminated without any 
compassion after the extermination of the 
army of occupation. 

‘ Third. The defenders of the Philippines 
in your command will attack the guard at 
Bilibid and liberate the prisoners and “ presid- 
iarios,” and having accomplished this, they 
will be armed, saying to them, Brothers, we 
must avenge ourselves on the Americans and 
exterminate them, that we may take our re- 
venge for the infamies and treacheries they 
have committed upon us. Have no compas- 
sion upon them ; attack with vigor. All 


158 WINNING HIS WAY 

Filipinos ‘ en masse ^ will second you. Long 
live Filipino Independence ! ” ^ 

Subsequent events developed the fact/’ 
continued the narrative, that a third paper 
had reached its destination, but the well 
prepared Provost Guard instantly crushed the 
uprising at all points, and the upheaval must 
be looked for at a later date.” 

With bated breath Douglas Atwell fol- 
lowed the story of the pursuit of Col. Quicoy 
Siongco which was here related, but the article 
placed the scene of action in Calle De Lacoste, 
in the district of Santa Cruz, whereas the ad- 
dress of Quicoy Siongco on the captured let- 
ter was No. Escolta. 

The narrative closed with the remark : — 
Although this dangerous Chinese renegade 
made good his escape, he was forced to 
abandon an unfinished letter, the full char- 
acter of which the press is not at liberty to 
divulge, but which seemed to indicate that 
there is a traitor lurking in the American 
ranks.” 

Douglas flushed crimson as he read these 
lines. Perhaps he had confided in Fred Rus- 


TO WEST POINT 


159 

sell not a moment too soon. With nervous 
fingers, he folded the paper and walked down 
toward the kitchen to await the coming of 
the rest of the company. 

Babong was there, nimbly assisting his red- 
headed, freckled-faced chief in the preparation 
of the morning meal. 

Read that, Reddy,'' said Douglas, as he 
tossed the paper to him, and led Babong 
away from the kitchen. 

“ Bab," said he in a low tone, “ sabe Colo- 
nel Quicoy Siongco ? " 

Babong started, glanced cautiously about, 
and whispered through his teeth, “ Este 
Chino," and indicated in his wonderful pan- 
tomime the Chinese fruit vender who had 
signaled him a death sentence over the shoul- 
der of the Queer Fellow " on the day they 
had the bout with bayonets. Douglas placed 
his fingers upon his lips, and Babong in- 
stantly lapsed into his normal manner, and 
resumed his work. 

Private Leland Jackson with a copy of the 
morning paper in his hand, had sauntered 
into the kitchen. There was nothing in his 
manner to betray the slightest anxiety, regret, 


i6o WINNING HIS WAY 

or nervousness, as he jestingly discussed the 
tragic events that had occurred within the 
city. 

Again Douglas gazed and wondered. Could 
this thing be possible ? 

He must wait, control his anxiety, and re- 
frain from accusation until an opportunity 
came of driving this Chinese guerrilla to bay, 
and forcing him at the point of his rifle to 
disclose the truth. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE WORK OF QUICOY SIONGCO 

As Quicoy Siongco was the only person 
who could possibly identify the writer of the 
forged letter, Douglas Atwell resolved to make 
a great effort to accomplish his capture, and 
then force him to reveal his knowledge. 

There was reason to believe that Douglas 
had in his possession sufficient facts to warrant 
the attempt. He had the address on the 
envelope of the captured letter, while the 
newspapers of 16 th February recounted 
Quicoy^s escape from one of his hiding-places 
in the Santa Cruz district. Moreover, the 
cedula of Ramon Pacheco, the messenger who 
was killed at the outpost, provided a possible 
means for securing a person familiar with 
the haunts of the guerrilla chieftain. 

Some delay was necessary, however, before 
attempting the project, as no opportunity of 
going to Manila would be provided before the 
22d of the month. As stated by Reddy 

i6i 


i 62 


WINNING HIS WAY 


Fagin, a bull cart train would go into the 
city on that date to dispose of excess baggage 
which could not be carried in the coming 
arduous campaign for which preparations had 
already begun. The train was to wait over 
night at the regimental storehouse, and re- 
turn next day with fresh meat, bread, a new 
supply of cooking utensils, and sufficient fuel 
to last till the end of the month. 

A detachment from the company would 
escort the train, and there would be no diffi- 
culty in getting an assignment to this duty, 
as the work was regarded as arduous and 
disgreeable. 

Fred Russell heartily seconded the plan, 
and suggested that Klondyke Jones and the 
“ Queer Fellow ’’ be asked to join the expedi- 
tion, giving to them such explanation of the 
circumstances as might be desirable. The 
‘‘ ole sojer ” and his pal asked no questions, 
and gladly embraced the opportunity of at- 
tempting the capture of an Insurgent Colonel 
whose possible hiding-place, Douglas informed 
them, he had had the good fortune to dis- 
cover. 

Having once decided upon his course, 


TO WEST POINT 163 

Douglas set to work with unremitting energy. 
Lieutenant Milton readily granted permission 
for him and his friends to go to Manila as 
part of the regular escort, and asked no 
explanation as to why this disagreeable duty 
was sought. 

Everything seemed favorable to the success 
of the plan, but nevertheless, Douglas chafed 
in spirit as he thought of the five weary days 
he would have to wait. The delay had its 
advantage, however, because it afforded him 
time to overcome his emotions, and to coolly 
think over his plan of action. 

He tried to consider every possible phase of 
the situation, to anticipate every possible 
development which might result from the 
encounter with Quicoy Siongco which he so 
ardently desired. 

Never had Douglas felt the heat so much as 
during these five days while he languished in 
his tent, and merely waited for time to pass. 
Work on the trenches had been completed, 
and the companies were obliged to lie still 
in camp while the outposts constantly skir- 
mished with the enemy. At night the shots 
rattled through the shacks along the line. 


1 64 WINNING HIS WAY 

making sleep a luxury and normal rest almost 
an impossibility. 

At last the time expired, and the morning 
of the 22d arrived. 

The escort was to make an early start, and 
the eager boy awoke with the first break of 
dawn, but he was not the first astir that 
morning. 

Babong, squatted upon his heels, patiently 
waited for the young American to awake. One 
glance at the native’s face indicated that some- 
thing was amiss, and Douglas rose and went 
to him at once. 

Babong withdrew to a point among the 
bamboo secure from observation, and then 
took from his belt the precious anting-anting, 
and unfolded the wrappings with trembling 
hands. There lay the quartz rock, but the 
thread of scarlet tinge was changed to a 
dullish brown — the sign wrought by a 
supreme power, he believed, to warn him 
of imminent danger. 

As he beheld the look of surprise that came 
over the young soldier’s face, Babong shrank 
and quivered like a dog in the presence of 
impending death, for he read in the Ameri- 


TO WEST POINT 165 

can’s manner a confirmation of his own 
terrible fears. Douglas Atwell was no be- 
liever in the power of charms, but he could 
readily understand the unlettered Igorrote’s 
superstition in the presence of a phenomenon 
of nature which he himself could not compre- 
hend, and his mind sought some means of 
helping Babong in his trouble ; but when 
Babong learned that Douglas was to go that 
day to Manila, he flung himself upon his 
knees and begged to accompany the train, for 
he said that his anting-anting had revealed to 
him that safety was to be found only in the 
company of the young American. 

Anxious to relieve the poor Igorrote’s mind, 
Douglas secured the permission of Lieutenant 
Milton to take the native with him to Ma- 
nila ; and thus it happened that when the es- 
cort to the bull cart train drew out from 
Caloocan on the morning of February 22d, 
Babong, the Igorrote, was mounted as a bull 
driver on the back of one of the carabaos. 

Douglas Atwell, Fred Russell and Klon- 
dyke Jones walked by his side, assuring the 
Igorrote of their fidelity and protection. The 
ole sojer ” had been informed of all that had 


i66 


WINNING HIS WAY 


happened, and had pledged himself to secrecy 
unless he should be called upon officially to 
reveal his knowledge. 

As the three soldiers trudged along to- 
gether, Douglas related the cause of Babong’s 
presence, and called attention to the huge 
bolo, swinging at his side, which Babong had 
borrowed from Reddy Fagin. 

“ Nothing better could have happened,’^ 
said Fred Russell. “ If there is any man in 
camp who is certain to know the face of 
Quicoy Siongco, Babong is the man, and our 
success may depend on him. Our natural 
enemy is his natural enemy. Hence a new 
power appears on the political horizon, the 
quadruple alliance of Douglas, Klondyke, me 
and Bab. How ’bout it, ' ole sojer ’ ?” 

“ Th’ ain’t nothin’ no more clear than thet 
’ere,” said Klondyke Jones, but I think I 
better tell th’ ^ Queer Feller ’ what kind o’ a 
critter we’re huntin’ t’-night.” 

Don’t tell him anything about the letter, 
Klondyke,” cautioned Douglas. 

This ain’t my first ’listment. Field Mar- 
shal,” returned Klondyke as he cast a humor- 
ous glance at his comrades, and trudged off 


TO WEST POINT 167 

toward the head of the column, where Bill 
Smathers was astride a carabao, learning the 
worshipful art of ‘‘ bull drivin’/’ 

“ Thet ^ere’s one o’ th’ best ole files in th’ 
army,” said Russell, laughingly mimicking 
Klondyke’s tone, as the latter jogged on 
ahead, leaving the two young men alone to 
arrange plans for the night. 

The train pulled up at the regimental store- 
house, and by previous arrangement, Fred 
Russell, Douglas Atwell, Klondyke Jones and 
Bill Smathers were to stay on duty during the 
day, and were to be given the privileges of the 
town during the night. 

It had been agreed that Russell should 
carry a revolver, while the rest would go 
armed with rifles, and that Babong would 
carry his big barong (bolo) and accompany the 
expedition. 

My idea,” said Russell, would be to go 
down the Escolta, and look over the house 
supposed to be the stopping place of Quicoy 
Siongco. I haven’t much hope of making a 
discovery, and we can’t make a search unless 
we set eyes upon the Chino himself, but we 
can inspect and become familiar with the 


i68 


WINNING HIS WAY 


place for future operations should this trip 
prove a failure.’’ 

All agreed, and the quartette with Babong 
close behind, set out for the Escolta about 
seven o’clock in the evening. 

The suspected building lay in the heart of 
the business section of the city, and proved to 
be an ordinary business house, bearing the 
name of a respected Chinese firm which did 
business on a large scale ; but now the place 
was closed ; iron bars covered the windows, 
and the house was shrouded in darkness. 

The place is run by a gang of Chinos,” 
said the soldier who was doing duty as a 
policeman in the Escolta, “ but as they were 
supposed to be beyond reproach, I never 
watched them closely. I’ve noticed a new 
face occasionally among them, but I could not 
be certain about the identity of any. I’m 
ready to help you out, though, if you are on 
the track of a suspect.” 

It was therefore arranged to write the 
policeman from time to time if it were neces- 
sary, but all the particulars in the case were 
carefully withheld, and the strange party 
turned their footsteps toward Santa Cruz, the 


TO WEST POINT 169 

scene of the pursuit of Col. Quicoy Siongco on 
the night of February 15th. 

It was nearly 8:00 p. m. when the party 
arrived in Calle de Bilibid and stopped a 
soldier-policeman of the Thirteenth Minne- 
sota. 

“ Tell me/^ said Russell, “ how to get to 
Calle dela Misericordia.^’ 

Three blocks ahead,’’ said the police- 
man. 

Then where is Calle De Lacoste ? ” 

Turn to the left when you reach Miser- 
icordia, and walk down two blocks. De La- 
coste crosses Misericordia.” 

“ Thank you,” responded Russell, and the 
group hurried on, for the residence of Col. 
Quicoy Siongco and that of Ramon Pacheco, 
who had been killed at the outposts, were sep- 
arated by only two blocks. 

In a few moments they stood in front of 
the shack which, according to the captured 
cedula, was the home of Ramon Pacheco. 
The street was dark and absolutely still, and 
the house seemed abandoned. 

Babong crept up close to his companions, 
his eyes glittering with a strange wild light, 


170 


WINNING HIS WAY 


half fear, half defiance, and catching Douglas 
by the arm, he pointed to the corner they had 
just turned. It was barely possible to discern 
the figure of a barefooted native, stripped to 
the waist, who was creeping along the bamboo 
fence one hundred yards behind them. To 
an ordinary observer, he was searching for 
something along the base of the wall, but to 
Babong, the Igorrote, he was like a vision of 
the gallows to a condemned man. He drew 
his long barong, and crouched over the sharp 
blade, but Douglas restrained him. 

“ Ifil git fim in a second,^’ whispered the 

Queer Fellow,” but Klondyke gripped him 
by the collar. 

“ Don’t stir. Bill, don’t stir,” said Douglas. 

We don’t want that lout. That fellow has 
been following us ever since we entered the 
district of Santa Cruz. Babong has had his 
eye on him, but we are between him and the 
house we want, and let us get there before he 
can get away to give the alarm.” 

The group hurried on to De Lacoste, and 
with eager expectancy, crept down the silent 
street, while far to the rear the dark figure of 
the native glided swiftly along in the deep 


TO WEST POINT 


171 

shadows ; but none of his movements were lost 
to the watchful eye of Babong. 

In a moment the alleged residence of 
Quicoy Siongco lay in front of them, and the 
heart of the eager boy sank within him. 
The street seemed deserted. There was no 
sign of life about the miserable shack, and it 
was clear at a glance that the leader of the 
guerrillas of Santa Cruz used this only as a 
sub-station for the prosecution of his nefarious 
trade. 

As the four soldiers discussed the situation, 
a clock in a church tower struck eight. A 
light glimmered for a moment in the shack in 
front and the anxious watchers held their 
breath ; then the entire interior of the shack 
burst into flames that surged through the 
windows and rose above the roof. 

Rushing across the street the four soldiers 
crushed down the gate, and entered the en- 
closure. No one was about, but through the 
slats in the floor some highly inflammable 
material fell burning to the ground, and the 
odor of kerosene oil rose from the heap of 
saturated rags that blazed within the shack. 

Smash ’er down,^’ shouted Bill Smathers, 


172 


WINNING HIS WAY 


as he seized one of the uprights which sup- 
ported one of the corners of the fragile 
structure. “ We kin stop it right here if 
there ain’t no more shacks sot on fire by thet 
’ere Chinese varmint we bin readin’ ’bout. 
Lay hold, boys.” 

The four sturdy soldiers seized the upright, 
wrenched it loose, crushed the diagonally op- 
posite support, and the burning shack fell in 
a heap. 

“ Thet ’ere’s done fur, but ’tain’t much use. 
Listen.” 

Shots were ringing out along the street near 
the canal two blocks distant, and a policeman 
of the Minnesota regiment was running down 
the street shouting “ fire.” 

The four soldiers ran out to meet him. 

‘‘ Give it to ’em, boys, while I turn in the 
alarm,” he shouted as he passed. “ It will be 
a terrible night. We’ve got word that Quicoy 
Siongco is leading another uprising to burn 
the city and assassinate the white people.” 

A large house in the middle of the block 
was a sheet of flames, which swept across the 
narrow street, enveloping a second building 
as Atwell and his comrades hurried up to the 


TO WEST POINT 


173 


scene ; but this conflagration had already 
passed beyond the power of single handed 
men, and required the efforts of the whole fire 
department, which had already been ordered 
out. 

The locality was well selected for the pur- 
poses of the incendiaries. It was a district peo- 
pled by Chinamen, who had stored in their frag- 
ile structures immense quantities of cocoanut 
shells intended for fuel, and the light fiber of 
these shells not only ignites very readily, but 
carries sparks in clouds. Moreover, every 
building in the contemplated path of the 
fire had been saturated with kerosene oil by 
order of Col. Quicoy Siongco ; and prompt 
though they were, the members of the City 
Fire Department, the English Volunteer Bri- 
gade, and the troops of the Minnesotas found 
themselves confronted with an herculean 
task as they dashed down the narrow street 
to the scene of the blazing buildings. 

Without hesitation our four soldier friends, 
and Babong, the Igorrote, jumped to the as- 
sistance of their comrades, but work as they 
would the flames gained upon them. The 
entire street from the canal was hopelessly 


174 


WINNING HIS WAY 


involved, and the firemen were forced to back 
away toward the centre of the city, and fight 
the flames step by step as they ate their way 
inward. 

One of the engines abandoned its position, 
made a detour through Misericordia, stretched 
its hose around the corner, and renewed its 
fight against the flames. Here was hope of 
success, and Douglas and his comrades threw 
themselves into the new project with renewed 
energy. The sparks from the blazing cocoa- 
nuts fell upon their bare hands, arms and 
necks, their faces were scorched by the flames, 
and their exhausted bodies dripped with per- 
spiration ; but at every point, Babong, the 
Igorrote, worked with a frantic zeal which 
none could excel. 

The fire was succumbing before these heroic 
efforts, and the spirits of the jaded men ro§e. 
Shouts of encouragement ran along the street 
where murmurs of despair were heard only 
half an hour before, and the firemen redoubled 
their exertions. 

The hose ran along in front of a side alley 
known as Calle San Fernando and was prac- 
tically unprotected throughout its whole 


TO WEST POINT 


175 


length. Douglas Atwell was at the nozzle 
with one of the firemen, when the flow of 
water suddenly ceased. Dropping the nozzle, 
Douglas ran back along the hose to locate the 
cause, when he saw Babong madly pursuing 
a fleeing native down the street, while another 
dark form crept out from a building near 
Misericordia, and with one quick blow of his 
bolo severed the hose, already cut once, and 
disappeared as quickly as he came. 

Shouting to Russell and Klondyke, Doug- 
las ran toward the spot as a volley rang out 
from the adjoining house-tops. The moment 
was excellently chosen ; the fire concentrated 
upon the section of lacerated hose was well 
calculated to discourage further effort of the 
exhausted men, and force them to abandon 
the city to the fate of the flames. 

But the new attack served only to intensify 
the zeal of the firemen, while the troops raked 
the surrounding buildings with their rapid 
fire. Locating one of the guerrillas by the 
flash of his rifle, Douglas leveled his rifle and 
fired. Klondyke and Russell were beside him 
in an instant, at the point at which the hose 
had first been cut. 


176 WINNING HIS WAY 

“ Look ! Look ! ” whispered Russell, and as 
Douglas followed his eyes, he saw in the win- 
dow of the balcony which overlooks Calle 
San Fernando, the figure of Quicoy Siongco 
shouting fiercely down to his henchmen in 
the alley below. 

With one leap, Douglas Atwell gained the 
hall of this building, and groped his way 
until he stumbled on the stairs. Klondyke 
Jones and Fred Russell were close behind 
him, but try as they would, they stumbled 
and thumped with their heavy shoes. 

With beating heart, Douglas at last gained 
the door and stepped into the room, but with 
bitter disappointment he saw that Quicoy was 
gone, while from below he heard the wild 
battle-cry of Babong as he engaged the as- 
sassins whom the Chinese renegade had set 
upon him. “ Watch for the Chino here, Klon- 
dyke, while I go to Babong,’’ shouted Douglas, 
as the Igorrote’s frantic scream rang through 
the room. 

Douglas and Russell fairly leaped back 
down the stairs, for again the terrible yell rose 
from the hard-pressed native. Rushing into 
the alley, Douglas with fixed bayonet, and 


TO WEST POINT 


177 


Russell with revolver flung themselves upon 
the group of assassins who held Babong im- 
prisoned before their keen blades at the end 
of the alley. It required the work of only 
one terrible moment to rescue the poor 
Igorrote, who then flung himself upon the 
necks of his rescuers and covered them with 
the blood that dripped from his lacerated arms 
and legs. 

A moment’s inspection explained the situa- 
tion. Babong’s vigilant eyes had detected the 
native as he crept from the alley and cut the 
hose, and all the savage instincts of the head- 
hunter rose within him in a tumult, as he 
pursued the fleeing native, overtook him in 
the alley, and severed his head from his body 
with one terrific blow of the barong. 

The pursuit had carried Babong to the end 
of the alley, and when he attempted to return, 
he found the way blocked by the bolomen 
whom Quicoy Siongco had held in leash for 
hours, awaiting this coveted opportunity. 
Backing into the angle at the end of the alley, 
Babong had faced the enemies who had sworn 
to kill the ‘‘ Igorrote traitor,” and he had slain 
them one by one with his wonderful blows, 


178 WINNING HIS WAY 


and his tiger-like leaps ; but each one had 
caused him a wound, and realizing the hope- 
lessness of the fight, he had sent forth the 
cry for help which he had used when face to 
face with the python whose parched skin now 
nestled within his belt ; and again the cry 
which he had uttered when face to face with 
Bontoc, the head-hunter, whose blood had 
flowed upon the magic quartz rock which now 
lay within the parched skin. 

And deliverance from death had come 
through Douglas Atwell and Fred Russell. 

Henceforth, they would stand to him in the 
same supernatural relation as his wonderful 
an ting-anting. 

Supporting the wounded native, the two 
young soldiers returned to the main street. 
The fire had at last succumbed before the en- 
ergy of the workers, but nearly two blocks 
had been destroyed. 

An officer galloped into the street, and 
ordered all spare fire engines into the district 
of Tondo, where the market building had just 
been fired. The red glare of the flames was 
already visible above the house-tops. 

Babong had fainted from loss of blood, and 


TO WEST POINT 


179 


the desire to go to the support of comrades in 
Tondo must be rejected in the presence of the 
duty of caring for the faithful Igorrote. Im- 
provising a litter, our four soldier friends laid 
him upon it, and started off for the hospital. 

The long contemplated uprising had come 
at last, but Douglas and his comrades had 
been spectators of but part of the tragic affair. 

It was a night of unspeakable savagery. 
Murder, arson, and all the barbarous crimes 
known to the Asiatic race were committed 
without hesitancy by the disguised marauders 
who had crawled into Tondo through Vitas 
Swamp. All night long the soldiers fought 
these guerrillas as they retreated from house 
to house, and the troops finally succeeded in 
arresting the progress of the flames they had 
started only by blowing up the buildings in 
the path of the fire with immense charges of 
gunpowder. 

Douglas Atwell and his tired comrades were 
well on their way to Caloocan the following 
morning when the struggle in Tondo was ter- 
minated by a furious charge of the troops upon 
the guerrillas, flinging them back into the 
swamps from which they came. 


WINNING HIS WAY 


1 8 o 

Russell and Douglas trudged along together 
in silence. Though Quicoy Siongco had been 
almost in their hands, yet he had escaped, and 
* the mystery surrounding the captured letter 
was just as deep as ever ; but though the Chino 
had escaped, Douglas had made a friend whose 
native cunning and powerful arm he would 
one day need and command in a moment of 
extreme peril. 

Douglas struggled to talk cheerfully, but so 
bitter was his disappointment, so complete his 
preoccupation that he finally gave up the 
effort, and fell to musing on his plans for the 
future. 

At length it occurred to him that Bill Smath- 
ers had not been on the scene at the critical 
moment the night before when his presence 
might have turned failure into success. 

Where were you, Bill,’^ Douglas asked, 
when the guerrillas opened fire upon us ? 

“ I jined the fray.’’ he said shortly. 

I didn’t see you,” urged Douglas. 

Mebbe ye didn’t, but I seen you. I seen 
ye pitchin’ fur one o’ them houses, an’ I 
thought you’d flushed a covey o’ them guer- 
rillas. 1 dropped ’round ’tweeu th’ burnin’ 


TO WEST POINT 


t8i 

buildin’ an’ th’ back o’ th’ house where ye 
wuz, an’ I thought mebbe I’d bag a few when 
they cum out.” 

Douglas, now keenly on the alert, awaited 
for the Queer Fellow ” to finish his story. 

“ Well, did you get any of them ? ” he finally 
asked. 

“ Naw,” said the “ Queer Fellow ” with an 
accent of disgust, only a scared Chinaman 
cum pikin’ out. I wuz so mad thet I hauled 
off* an’ hit ’im sich a wallop in th’ jaw thet I 
bet he’s sleepin’ yet. Then I got afraid thet 
th’ burnin’ buildin’ would fall onto him, so I 
drug him ’round into th’ alley an’ left him 
there. ’Bout thet time, I seen you an’ Russell 
cornin’ down the alley with Bab all covered 
with blood, an’ I seen there’d been a rumpus. 
Guess ye walked over th’ Chino, an’ tuk ’im 
fur one o’ th’ critters Bab had carved up. 
Why, ye wasn’t lookin’ fur thet ’ere Chino, 
wuz ye ? ” 

Douglas nearly choked. 

“ I didn’t see your man. Bill, so I can’t 
say,” said Douglas evasively ; but he could 
have cried with chagrin. This then was the 
penalty he had paid for not confiding the 


WINNING HIS WAY 


182 

whole affair to Bill Smathers, the Queer 
Fellow. ’’ 

The panting bulls with tongues lolling from 
their parched throats had drawn up in front 
of the company kitchen, and eager to escape 
the observation of his friends, Douglas walked 
inside. 

“ Hello, Reddy,’’ said he abstractedly, “ what 
has happened since we left?” 

‘‘ Lots,” shouted Reddy, as he looked at 
Douglas through the steam that rose from a 
boiler of bean soup, “ lots. Ye ’member th’ 
night — Feb’ry 14th, I guess it wuz — thet Jack- 
son wuz chased fur his life on outpost by a 
gang o’ bolomen, an’ ye run amuck agin a 
Moro — a feller all dressed in coat o’ mail an’ 
so on ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

An’ ye druv him t’ th’ edge o’ th’ river 
with yer bay’nit, an’ made him hop inter th’ 
stream ? ” 

“ I remember,” said Douglas. 

Well last night thet tarnation Moro, he 
pitched into th’ outpost single-handed, an’ he 
took an’ nearly chopped the head offen Johnny 
Gillespie. An’ thet ain’t all. This mornin’ 


TO WEST POINT 183 

when th’ boys rolls out t’ reveille they found 
two o’ th’ rifles had been stole from under th’ 
men that slept on top o’ ’em.” 

Whose rifles ? ” demanded Atwell. 
Jackson’s and Corporal Casey’s.” 


CHAPTER XII 


AN ACCUSATION THAT FAILED 

Upon the receipt of Reddy Fagin^s informa- 
tion that two rifles had been stolen, and that 
Private Gillespie had had “ th’ head nearly 
chopped offen flm ” by the Moro, Douglas At- 
well sank wearily upon a hardtack box, 
mopped his dripping forehead, and struggled 
hard to hold back the choking sensation that 
rose in his throat. How completely had he 
failed in every direction ! How utterly dis- 
couraged he felt ! 

Once more the Moro loomed like a danger- 
signal on the horizon ; the Moro whom Doug- 
las, Klondyke and others had seen among the 
Insurgents the day Douglas made his sketch 
of the Insurgent trenches from the top of the 
great tree in front of Caloocan ; the Moro be- 
fore whom Jackson had deserted his outpost, 
shrieking frantically for help, on the night of 
February 14th ; who would have killed Jack- 
son had it not been for Douglas, who flung 

184 


TO WEST POINT 


185 

himself in the path of the terrible boloman, 
and forced him to leap over the river bank 
before his skilful bayonet. 

This was a feat of which any soldier might 
feel proud, but in his depressed mental condi- 
tion, Douglas could see no merit in his fail- 
ure to capture the Moro, who, in order to show 
his contempt for his adversary had now at- 
tacked an outpost single-handed, and had 
wounded Private Gillespie almost beyond the 
hope of recovery. 

But this was not the only reason why 
Douglas felt uneasy. 

When Quicoy Siongco, the only person who 
could reveal the identity of the man who had 
forged his name, was almost in his hands, 
Douglas^ stumbling, clumsy feet had warned 
the Chino of danger, and had permitted him 
to make good his escape. 

Certainly lots ” had happened, to distress 
him, to emphasize his failure, and to exagger- 
ate his feeling of depression. 

Though he had tried to serve his country 
with all his generous zeal, yet, on mere official 
disclosures, he would stand convicted of hav- 
ing entered into a traitorous correspondence 


i86 


WINNING HIS WAY 


with the enemy, and of having caused the 
betrayal of two rifles into the hands of the 
Insurgents. 

“ Never mind, Douglas,’’ said Russell, I 
will have to assume the responsibility for the 
loss of those two rifles. It was my judg- 
ment that no effort would be made to be- 
tray the rifles, but I was mistaken. The case 
is more serious than I had thought at first, 
and it shows us that we must proceed with 
caution. But don’t be discouraged, my boy, 
for we will Anally succeed.” 

Anyway, worryin’ won’t help Johnny 
Gillespie’s head, nor bring back th’ rifles ; so 
come on, boys, an’ let’s git th’ carts unloaded,” 
said Klondyke Jones. 

The work was done in a silence that was 
painful, and with minds sorely perplexed the 
three friends went to their respective tents. 

The brain does not act readily in the Phil- 
ippines, and rest was necessary to recuperate 
the spent faculties. 

The little shelter tents of the company had 
been stretched over bamboo beds, erected by 
the men three feet above the ground, and 
throwing himself wearily on the bare slats. 


TO WEST POINT 187 

Douglas vainly struggled to form a new plan 
of operations. 

Every event during the last twenty-four 
hours had brought its disappointment, but 
the information concerning the Moro had 
given him a profound shock, for he felt that 
his struggle with this terrible fanatic had not 
yet terminated. It was true that in his en- 
counter with the Moro on the night of Febru- 
ary 14th, Douglas had put him to flight, but 
Douglas fully realized that a single false step, 
a foot entangled in the creeping vines, would 
have earned for him the fate that had befal- 
len the unfortunate Gillespie. 

No doubt the Moro had already verifled 
Atwell’s identity, through one of the many 
Insurgent spies. The rough treatment which 
he had received at the hands of the young 
soldier had no doubt inspired his rage, and 
his hatred for the Americans would now be 
concentrated upon the man who had humili- 
ated him. Douglas looked into the future 
with genuine dread, for since the night of 
February 14th, he had learned much concern- 
ing the character of the race to which the 
Moro belonged. 


i88 


WINNING HIS WAY 


Many pages of the history of the Philip- 
pines are devoted to the story of this warlike 
people. Originally of Saracenic or Moorish 
extraction, the Moros brought from their an- 
cient homes in Borneo or southern India the 
institutions of polygamy and slavery, and all 
that fierce hatred of Christianity which is the 
Saracenic inheritance of the ages. Completely 
overrunning the Island of Mindanao, the 
second largest of the group, they became the 
most dreaded pirates of the tropical seas, raid- 
ing the surrounding tribes, and carrying off 
the wives of their victims. 

It was the custom of the Moro warrior to go 
forth clad in coat of mail and helmet, with 
shield, and kampilan, and with tiger-like 
ferocity and agility, to fling himself upon his 
hereditary foe, always preferring a Spanish 
missionary. Cruel to the very heart, he 
would take a human life just to try the keen- 
ness of his blade. Angered by the adversity 
of fate, his faith teaches him to spring upon 
his Christian brethren, and the number that 
he may slay before he is himself laid low 
determines the measure of his celestial happi- 
ness. 


TO WEST POINT 189 

This was the race to which Douglas 
Atwell’s enemy belonged, and Inac, for such 
was the Moro’s name, was distinguished as a 
savage member of a savage race. 

From prisoners captured during a recon- 
naissance, Douglas had learned that Inac had 
committed some crime against the customs of 
his race, and that in order to atone for his 
offense, he had taken a sacred oath to die 
wallowing in Christian blood. Inac was, then, 
one of the dreaded “ juramentados ” (persons 
bound by the above oath), who had found his 
way into the ranks of the Insurgent army on 
account of the opportunity it gave him of 
slaying the Christian Americans. While the 
natives of Luzon are, for the most part, 
Christians, yet the glory of killing them faded 
in the presence of the greater glory to which 
Inac now aspired. 

When prepared for conflict, the Moro wore 
his armor, consisting of strips of carabao horn 
laced together by a strong coat of chain mail. 
His kampilan was stained with the blood of 
many victims, the latest of whom was Private 

Gillespie, of Company M, th Infantry, and 

his shield bore the marks of Douglas Atwell’s 


190 


WINNING HIS WAY 


bayonet, recording one of the few instances in 
which the Moro had met his match. 

These marks were a challenge to combat 
which Douglas felt sure the Moro would not 
only accept but would force upon him, and he 
fully realized that this was no ordinary con- 
test of man against man, of skill against skill, 
wherein the most dexterous might survive, 
for the juramentado’s ” contract is fulfilled 
by dying — by killing while being killed. 

Douglas mentally reviewed the details of his 
encounter with the Moro, and it became clear 
that Inac could have killed him if he had 
been willing to forfeit his life in the act. 
Apparently the Moro had chosen to save him- 
self because the number of his slain had not 
yet been considered sufficient to expiate the 
crimes he had committed against his race. 
From the history of his kind, it could be 
predicted that when the number of his actual 
or possible victims seemed sufficient to merit 
eternal glory, Inac, the juramentado,” 
would leap into the midst of the largest 
available group of Christians, and would 
gladly accept death for the glory of killing 
them. 


TO WEST POINT 


191 

While these thoughts were passing in the 
mind of Douglas Atwell, Lieutenant Milton 
was holding, in his tent, an investigation into 
the loss of the rifles. The sentinels had seen 
and had heard nothing. Corporal Casey de- 
clared that he had gone to sleep with his rifle 
beneath his blanket ; that he had slept 
soundly throughout the night, and that he 
had not discovered his loss until he turned 
out to answer reveille roll-call in the morn- 
ing. 

Not a sign, track, or mark had been left to 
indicate the identity of the thief, and the 
whole matter seemed shrouded in a mystery 
which defled solution. Douglas Atwell felt 
that only additional confusion would result 
from turning over the captured letter to 
Lieutenant Milton, and this course presented 
no compensating advantage except that of 
escaping personal responsibility for the whole 
miserable affair, and of throwing the burden 
of investigation upon the shoulders of his 
superior officer. This would not only be 
shirking a disagreeable task, but would be 
sounding a warning note to his enemy. 

In view of these considerations, Douglas 


192 


WINNING HIS WAY 


once more resolved to maintain a discreet and 
watchful silence. Meanwhile Lieutenant 
Milton was questioning Jackson also. 

Jackson was absolutely ignorant, he de- 
clared, of any actual knowledge as to how his 
rifle had been taken, but his manner was 
nervous and hesitating, his language guarded 
and veiled, and his attitude involved a sneer- 
ing insinuation of the apparent guilt of some 
one. 

“Jackson,” said Lieutenant Milton, as he 
fixed his searching eyes upon the soldier, 
“ your manner convinces me that you are 
withholding something. Am I to infer that 
you have any suspicion as to how the rifles 
were lost ? ” 

It was the opportunity for which Jackson 
had waited. 

“ If I am forced to state my suspicions, sir, 
I must say that I think a member of the 
company had something to do with the loss 
of the rifles,” said Jackson. 

“ Who ? ” demanded Lieutenant Milton. 

“ Private Atwell, sir.” 

Not a change came over the young officer’s 
face, but his eyes were fixed with such pene- 


TO WEST POINT 


^93 


trating scrutiny upon the collegian that the 
latter felt his muscles quiver, and his heart 
stand still. Never had he played so hard a 
part ; never one more daring. It seemed an 
age before Lieutenant Milton spoke in the 
same clear, calm and commanding tone. 

Why did you suspect Atwell ? ’’ 

Jackson rallied. If he could but speak he 
was never at a loss, and he had the art of 
making a case,’' the fallacies of which were 
not apparent at first inspection. 

Well, sir,” said Jackson, “ I have noticed 
Atwell hanging around that Igorrote ever 
since he was captured, and their friendliness 
never seemed natural to me. Babong is a 
native, and if we have learned anything in 
this campaign it is that all natives are against 
us ; all are treacherous to the heart, and I 
have no reason to believe that this savage is 
any better than the rest. Yesterday morning 
before reveille I happened to see Babong show- 
ing Atwell something down behind the 
kitchen. It was all done in the most secret 
and stealthy manner, and afterward Atwell 
asked permission, I understand, to take the 
Igorrote to Manila with him. Now, there is 


194 


WINNING HIS WAY 


only one man who could lead a party to the 
outskirts of the camp at night, sneak in, and 
carry off the rifles, and that man is Babong. 
He was supposed to be in Manila last night 
with Atwell. I have a strong suspicion that 
he was here in camp, but I have no positive 
proof, and so I hesitated, sir.” 

And how do you make Atwell responsible 
for the theft? ” 

“ I think Babong concluded to turn spy at 
the time he asked to be put to work in the 
company. It was easier to be a spy than to 
be a prisoner, and he was thus put in direct 
communication with the Insurgents, to whom 
he naturally belongs. Through Babong, I 
think Atwell was bought over to the service 
of the enemy.” 

“ You think that Babong led the party to 
the camp at AtwelTs instigation, and that Bab- 
ong actually did the stealing?” suggested 
Lieutenant Milton. 

“ That is my suspicion,” responded Jackson. 

“ When did this idea occur to you ? ” 

“ Immediately after I discovered the loss of 
my rifle — at reveille this morning.” 

And you have been careful to find out all 


TO WEST POINT 


195 

the facts, to sift the evidence, to confirm or to 
destroy your suspicion ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” said Jackson confidently. 

“ And your suspicion as to Atwell’s guilt is 
so strong as to warrant an official declaration ? ” 
I don’t want to get any one into trouble, 
sir, but I couldn’t conceal my suspicion.” 

At what time did you go to sleep last 
night?” 

About eleven o’clock, sir.” 

** Was your rifle in your possession at that 
time ? ” 

Yes, sir.” 

“ Then, if your suspicion be correct, Babong 
must have visited this camp between eleven 
o’clock last night and reveille this morning? ” 
Yes, sir,” said Jackson with a slight flush. 

‘‘ Where have you been since the escort re- 
turned from Manila ?” 

“^^About the company, sir.” 

Have you not heard of the attempt to 
burn the city last night ? ” 

Yes, sir, I heard some talk in a general 
way,” said Jackson uneasily. 

Then is it not well known to you, and to 
every man in the company, that Atwell and 


196 WINNING HIS WAY 


his comrades were fighting the fire and the 
Insurgents in the streets of Manila until 
eleven o’clock last night ; that Babong was 
seriously wounded while fighting natives who 
had attempted to cut the fire hose, and that 
he was then taken to the hospital, where he 
has since remained ? ” 

“ N-no, sir, I had not heard that.” 

That being the case, however, which every 
one but you appears to know, your suspicion 
concerning Atwell seems to be unfounded.” 

I might be wrong, sir,” stammered Jack- 

son. 

Your case against Atwell was founded on 
the assumption that Babong is a spy who had 
acted as a medium for the purchase of the in- 
fidelity of Atwell, and the facts, which you 
could have verified in ten minutes, show con- 
clusively that Babong nearly lost his life 
fighting the people by whom you say he was 
employed as a spy. Not only ‘ might ’ you 
be wrong, but it is impossible that you should 
be right.” 

Lieutenant Milton’s manner commanded no 
further reply, as he ran his flashing eyes over 
the self-convicted calumniator. 



“ ‘T^HIS IS NOT THE WORK OF A SELF-RESEECl ING 
MAN THA T WILL DO, SIR ! ” 



I 

t 


• > 

I 


> I 

1 





t 

* . 


K' ' 



« 

, \ 




j 


TO WEST POINT 


197 


Jackson/^ said he, rising and folding his 
arms, ^'you have accused a member of the 
company of a crime which would dishonor his 
name, and place him in a felon’s cell. There 
is absolutely nothing to support the charge, 
and I believe that you know it. This is not 
the work of a self-respecting man. That will 
do, sir.” 

Once outside the company commander’s 
tent, Jackson’s face went awry with anger. 
He ground his teeth, and in his heart he 
vowed that he would fight it out to the very 
last against Douglas Atwell. 

This was Jackson’s first public manifesta- 
tion of enmity, and injustice to him, it must 
be said that his original desire to punish 
Douglas Atwell for his accidental discovery of 
his cowardice, had gradually and almost un- 
consciously grown into a bitter hatred which 
had finally mastered him. Anxious merely 
to cast suspicion upon the character of Doug- 
las Atwell, he had hesitated, insinuated, hop- 
ing that Lieutenant Milton would accept an 
implied charge without the brutal examination 
into particulars which had forced him to a 
public betrayal of his feelings ; and now 


198 WINNING HIS WAY 

either he or Atwell must win. There was no 
such thing as retreat ; and Jackson’s active 
mind began at once to formulate new plans 
for accomplishing the humiliation of his un- 
willing enemy. 

Unconscious of all that had passed, Douglas 
Atwell tossed restlessly upon his bamboo 
couch, and vainly sought a respite from his 
tormenting thoughts. It had been his mis- 
fortune to stumble on Jackson when the 
young collegian’s courage had failed him and 
he lay hiding behind the bamboo thicket while 
his company went on to the gallant charge on 
blockhouse No. 14. Though Douglas had 
preserved absolute silence concerning the in- 
cident, yet knowledge of Jackson’s conduct 
had gradually reached his comrades, and had 
won their well merited contempt. 

Douglas had ignored the incident as far as 
possible, but the capture on the night of Feb- 
ruary 14th, of the forged letter bearing Douglas 
Atwell’s signature, and proposing a betrayal 
of five rifies into the hands of the enemy, had 
revealed a dangerous enemy whose identity 
Douglas could hardly doubt. The serious na- 
ture of the case was demonstrated by the 


TO WEST POINT 


199 


actual disappearance of two of the rifles on 
the date proposed in the letter, and while 
Douglas Atwell was absent from the com- 
pany. 

It was natural to suppose that Quicoy 
Siongco had accomplished the capture of the 
rifles, had it not been for the fact that he was 
seen by Douglas Atwell that very night in 
Manila. This left some doubt as to whether 
the rifles had been stolen at all, as a mere con- 
cealment of the weapons would have produced 
all the necessary appearance of Douglas At- 
well’s guilt, which was the object of the con- 
spirator. 

Had Douglas but succeeded in capturing 
Quicoy Siongco, all these broken fragments of 
evidence might have been forged into a com- 
plete chain ; but the irony of fate had sent the 
Chino flying from Douglas into the arms of 
the “ Queer Fellow,” who had knocked him 
senseless, and tossed him into the alley, where 
Douglas had unknowingly walked over the 
man whose capture meant so much to him. 

The captured letter was still in the hands 
of Fred Russell, but the handwriting had 
been so perfectly disguised as to defy identifi- 


200 


WINNING HIS WAY 


cation except by an expert, and experts were 
not available in Manila. The misspelled 
word reer ’’ appeared to be the only clue 
which might lead to results. 

Thus it happened that there was no posi- 
tively incriminating evidence against the man 
whom Douglas Atwell was forced to suspect, 
and he could only wait with patience and re- 
frain from public accusation. 

Let ’em git ’nouf rope,” Klondyke Jones 
had repeatedly urged. “ You don’t hev’ t’ do 
nothin’ ’t all. Ye can’t keep some people 
from hangin’ themselves, if ye only give ’em 
’nouf tether, an’ Jackson’s one o’ ’em.” 

And from the look in Jackson’s face as he 
came back to his tent after his interview with 
Lieutenant Milton, it was clear that he would 
take all the risks of hanging himself in the 
effort to injure the object of his hatred. Never 
had Douglas seen a more handsome face more 
completely deformed with anger, and he won- 
dered what had happened to so completely des- 
troy the young collegian’s remarkable non- 
chalance. 

Every one in the company talked, reasoned, 
conjectured upon the strange things that had 


TO WEST POINT 


201 


happened, but when this eventful day closed, 
only two official facts were available for pub- 
lication : 

First. That Private John Gillespie, Com- 
pany M, th Infantry, had died from 

wounds received at the hands of Inac, the 
juramentado.’' 

Second. That two rifles, numbers 97,997 
and 67,883, had been stolen from the company 
during the night of February 22d, and had 
probably fallen into the hands of the enemy. 


CHAPTER XIII 


UNDER ARREST 

A MONTH had passed since the uprising in 
Manila, and nothing was definitely known as 
to the whereabouts of Quicoy Siongco. No 
further attempt had been made to burn the 
city, however, and it was believed that the In- 
surgents had at last recognized the folly of 
such a course, or had found the personal dan- 
gers too great. Why the attempt had ever 
been made was beyond the comprehension of 
the American mind. It was said that some 
wise adviser of Aguinaldo had insisted that as 
the Russians had defeated the greatest soldier 
of all Europe by burning the city of Moscow, 
so the Filipinos might defeat the American 
commander by reducing the city of Manila to 
ashes. The fact that Moscow was the only 
depot of supplies on the frozen plains of Rus- 
sia, whereas the unlimited supplies of the 
United States had uninterrupted access to the 
harbor of Manila, while houses were an un- 


202 


TO WEST POINT 


203 


necessary luxury to the American troops, did 
not seem to appeal to the strategist who urged 
the destruction of the Oriental metropolis. 

At last wiser counsels prevailed, and it was 
currently reported that Quicoy Siongco and 
his incendiaries had been recalled from the 
city and had taken their places with the In- 
surgents in front of Caloocan, where the ma- 
jority of the Revolutionary forces had been 
concentrated to meet the contemplated attack 
of the American army. 

Many new regiments had arrived from the 
United States, and General Mac Arthur’s divi- 
sion now numbered some 12,000 men, with 
which he proposed to defeat the Insurgent 
army, nearly 20,000 strong, and press on to 
the north as far as it was possible to go before 
the beginning of the rainy season. 

In addition to their superiority in numbers, 
every natural and artificial advantage lay in 
the hands of the Insurgents. The whole ter- 
ritory to be invaded was occupied by a dense 
native population excited to intense hostility 
to the Americans by the false and malicious 
representations of Tagalog politicians. Every 
military operation would be discovered and 


204 


WINNING HIS WAY 


reported to the Insurgents by this watchful 
civilian population, while the operations of the 
enemy would be guarded with a secrecy of 
which only the Asiatic is capable. Each mile 
gained in advance would place the hostile in- 
habitants of that territory in the rear of the 
advancing army, to prey upon the line of com- 
munications and to ambush isolated bodies of 
American troops. 

Moreover, the only railroad of the Islands 
traverses this hostile territory from Manila in 
the south to Dagupan in the north, a distance 
of one hundred and twenty-three miles. All 
the rolling stock had been seized by the In- 
surgents immediately after the outbreak of 
hostilities, thus placing in their hands all 
the facilities for rapid transportation of their 
troops either for advance or retreat. 

No accurate maps of the country were avail- 
able, but it was known that the whole terri- 
tory was laced with deep unfordable rivers, 
guarded at all important points by intrench- 
ments which the Insurgents had been pre- 
paring for many months. It was clear, there- 
fore, that desperate fighting would character- 
ize the advance, but, nevertheless, all were 


TO WEST POINT 


205 

eager for the orders to march, and the spirits 
of the men were excellent. 

Advantage had been taken of the necessary 
delay to place the army in the best possible 
drill and discipline. Contact with the enemy 
had been maintained by daily reconnoitring 
parties, one of which had penetrated deeply 
into the enemy’s country, and had brought back 
a valuable map, executed by Douglas Atwell. 
The reconnaissance had been extended behind 
the enemy’s lines to the Tuliahan River, and 
while the party lay concealed in the dense 
thickets, Douglas sketched the scene. 

A native came down to the river, and the 
party watched him breathlessly, not fifty yards 
away, as he waded neck deep across the 
stream. This obscure but practicable ford 
was carefully marked upon the map, and the 
party succeeded in retracing its steps to camp 
without being discovered by the enemy. 
Douglas Atwell completed a neat sketch in 
ink, which he submitted to Lieutenant 
Milton, while he retained the rough field 
sketch in lead-pencil. 

During the past month, Douglas had learned 
the value of the art upon which he had 


2o6 winning his way 

formerly looked with laughing indifference ; 
for under the instructions of Lieutenant 
Milton, he had made, from the old Spanish 
models, a series of skeleton maps of all the 
territory from Manila to Dagupan, each map 
covering about a day’s march. Thus, the 
general features of the proposed theatre of 
military operations had become as familiar to 
him as the geography of his native town- 
ship. 

But reconnaissance and map making were 
not the only occupations of the past month, 
for Babong had returned from the hospital in 
Manila, completely recovered from the effects 
of his wounds, and the interrupted exercises 
with the bayonet and bolo had been resumed. 

It was no longer necessary to urge Babong 
into giving his time and energy to this 
exhausting work. On the contrary, he eagerly 
anticipated every desire of his young soldier 
friend, and took advantage of every oppor- 
tunity which would bring them together. 
The service which Douglas had rendered him 
on the night of February 22d, when, wounded 
and bleeding, Babong faced certain death at 
the hands of the assassins whom Quicoy 


TO WEST POINT 


207 


Siongco had set upon him, had won the 
Igorrote’s fullest gratitude. The circum- 
stances were such as to enlist in Douglas 
Atwell’s favor all the Igorrote’s instinct of 
natural loyalty and superstitious devotion. 
As if in complete verification of the anting- 
anting’s power of indicating danger, Babong 
had become involved in this terrific fight for 
life, while by Douglas Atwell’s sudden 
appearance and successful intervention at the 
moment of supreme peril, he seemingly veri- 
fied Babong’s superstitious belief that Douglas 
was endowed with miraculous power to shield 
him from harm. 

With the keen and certain intuition of his 
race, Babong had come to recognize the Moro 
as an enemy who must be finally dealt with. 

He had fashioned a wooden kampilan of 
the exact form used by the Moro, and with 
this weapon he engaged Douglas in daily 
bouts, and taught him how to meet and de- 
feat this wonderful fanatic. Having padded 
the point of his bayonet with the remnants of 
an old boxing glove, Douglas was able to 
simulate all the features of a real duel when 
he and Babong faced each other, and to 


2o8 


WINNING HIS WAY 


assault with as much desperation as if a life 
were at stake. While he could not equal 
Babong in agility and accuracy, yet Douglas 
knew that he was at last the Igorrote’s master, 
and that if it again fell to his lot to fight the 
terrible Moro, the chance of victory would 
probably be in his favor. 

Indeed the Moro had inspired a wholesome 
respect for his prowess, for Private Gillespie 
was not the only soldier who had fallen be- 
fore his cruel blade. From Malabon to the 
Pasig he roamed by night, and if an outpost 
relaxed its vigilance, the cost thereof was 
expressed the next morning in terms of dead 
and wounded American soldiers. 

Upon clear nights, the Moro preferred to 
abandon his helmet and coat of mail, to 
cover his shield with black cloth and lash his 
kampilan between two fiat pieces of bamboo 
to conceal its flash, and then to creep forward 
upon his prey. 

He can hide behind a blade of grass,’^ said 
one of the soldiers, “ approach within twenty- 
five yards unseen in the clear open, and walk 
with as soundless a tread as a cat ; while the 
crash of the heavy feet of our lightest men is 


TO WEST POINT 


209 


heard for half a mile. I tell you, boys, I 
fired at that fellow the other night when he 
was not twenty yards away, and though I’m a 
fair shot, I had the buck fever so badly that I 
missed him clean. I’d rather fight a half 
dozen skirmishes than to do two hours’ out- 
post duty on a dark night. But our time is 
coming. We will not be held here very much 
longer, and when we are cut loose, the Moro 
will be put on the hike with the rest of his 
kind.” 

The soldier was right. That very day Gen- 
eral MacArthur had completed his prepara- 
tions for the general advance of his division, 
and the morning of March 25th had been 
set for the opening attack. 

Aguinaldo was still at Malolos, the capital 
of the Revolutionary Government, while 
Luna, his great military leader, commanded 
ten thousand Insurgents on the railroad in the 
immediate front of the American troops. The 
first great blow would be directed against 
these, the flower of the Insurgent Army, and 
if General MacArthur succeeded in crushing 
them, the ready conquest of the whole In- 
surgent territory would be assured. 


210 


WINNING HIS WAY 


All excess baggage had been sent to the 
regimental storehouse in Manila, and, stripped 
for action, the troops bivouacked on the night 
of March 24th on a line extending roughly 
from Caloocan to the pumping-station. 

A small number of troops had been assigned 
the duty of guarding the trenches which the 
division would vacate, but to the th In- 

fantry was given the esteemed privilege of 
participating in the campaign. 

Every soldier understood the part his regi- 
ment was to play, and could give his intelli- 
gent cooperation. The whole line was to 
pivot on the left flank and swing to the left 
through an angle of nearly ninety degrees, 
thus forcing the Insurgents back upon the 
railroad, when a rapid advance would roll 
them up in confusion and complete their dis- 
order. 

We’ll go through ’em like a wild-cat,” 
said Klondyke Jones, as Corporal Casey’s 
squad sat together discussing the situation. 
‘‘ They’ve had their fun pesterin’ us by night, 
an’ they’ve got us riled clean through, an’ 
when twelve thousand good an’ riled up sojers 
cuts loose, ye better giv’ ’em a clar road.” 


TO WEST POINT 


21 I 


The “ Queer Fellow maintained his cus- 
tomary silence, but the roll of his head, the 
shifting glance of his steel gray eyes beneath 
the brim of his old campaign hat, were signs 
which indicated the gathering of a terrible 
storm. He had not forgotten the assassination 
of Private Schmidt, the young German, on 
the day following the capture of Pasay when 
the escort was ambushed on the road to 
Manila, while the death of young Gillespie at 
the hands of the Moro was a fresh wound to 
his sense of fair and square fighting. 

Not only Bill Smathers, but all the rest of 
the company, as well, were eager for the fray, 
and though the company was somewhat de- 
pleted in numbers on account of sickness. 
Corporal Casey commanded the presence of 
his entire squad. 

Private Leland Carlysle Jackson was there, 
somewhat to the surprise of those who knew 
him best. Moreover, since the disappearance 
of the two rifles on the night of February 22d, 
and his futile attempt to saddle the criminality 
for the same on the back of Douglas Atwell, 
all trace of contumely for Douglas and Russell 
had completely disappeared from his manner. 


212 


WINNING HIS WAY 


‘‘ I don’t understand it, Douglas,” Russell 
was saying. It is not at all like Leel to 
abandon a piece of mischief once he has com- 
mitted himself to the enterprise. I can’t 
help thinking that he has attempted some- 
thing unusually keen. Or else we were mis- 
taken in the original enemy.” 

The whole thing is a tangle which I have 
been entirely unable to unravel,” said Doug- 
las. I am heartily glad to be off on the 
campaign where my good friend, whoever he 
may be, will be forced to think of something 
better than plotting with the enemy. I want 
to forget the whole affair. I am willing to 
believe that Jackson is innocent, and I hope, 
moreover, that I may never know that he 
was guilty.” 

As the two young soldiers were speaking, 
Private Philip Kelton, a member of the guard, 
approached and called out Atwell’s name. 

“Here I am, Kelton,” said Douglas lightly ; 
“ what do you want ? ” 

“ Lieutenant Milton wants you at his tent 
right away.” 

There was a strange tone of anxiety in 
young Kelton’s voice which Douglas half 


TO WEST POINT 


213 . 


observed, but he hastened to obey the sum- 
mons without asking questions, and in a 
moment he stood in the presence of his com- 
pany commander. 

Three members of the guard stood awk- 
wardly in front of the tent, and Kelton re- 
joined them as Douglas entered. 

Without a word Lieutenant Milton handed 
him a telegram from corps headquarters, and 
the tent swam dizzily about him as the startled 
boy read the following lines : — 

“ If you have a soldier in your company 
known as Douglas Atwell, place him in arrest 
at once, and send him under heavy guard to 
report to the Provost Marshal-General in 
Manila. He is charged with treason.” 

All the blood had left young Atwell’s face, 
and he felt as if moving dizzily in space. 
The candle which sputtered within a tin box 
reflector on Lieutenant Milton’s desk seemed 
alternately to recede to a mere point, and then 
to blaze out with such violence that the flames 
seemed to envelop him, but he felt himself 
powerless to escape. He thought he felt the 
hot flames upon his face ; he imagined that 
he held a hose in his hands, and in an instant 


214 


WINNING HIS WAY 


he had lived through all the scenes in the 
streets of Manila when, on the night of Febru- 
ary 22d, he fought the flames that Quicoy 
Siongco had started in the city. 

It had been but a moment, but Douglas 
imagined that hours had passed before the 
young officer spoke. 

“ Have you anything to say, Atwell? 

Douglas Atwell’s lips parted, and he strug- 
gled to speak, but his tongue would not re- 
spond. The telegram whose words had tem- 
porarily paralyzed his faculties, slipped un- 
consciously from his Angers. 

Take him to the guard tent,” said Lieu- 
tenant Milton quietly, without raising his 
eyes to the pallid face of the boy. 

Douglas stumbled along in silence between 
Philip Kelton and another member of the 
guard until he reached the guard tent, and 
then he fell half unconscious upon the floor, 
a prisoner charged with treason against his 
country. Gradually he recovered control of 
his mental faculties, and realized his position. 
When the regiment would march out the next 
morning against the enemy, bearing the old 
flag which it had carried through half a cen- 


TO WEST POINT 


215 

tury of noble service, he, Douglas Atwell, would 
be marching under guard to a prison cell to 
answer a charge of treason. 

No sound came to Private Philip Kelton, 
the sentinel, who walked his post with heavy 
heart without, but on the floor of the dark 
tent within, lay Douglas Atwell, and the tears 
from his honest eyes trickled through the 
trembling fingers that clasped his forehead. 
No pang of conscience hurt him, but to be 
imprisoned by the man whom he loved so 
much, under a charge so loathsome to his 
nature, was a wound which pierced his heart. 

It was nearly eight o’clock in the evening 
when these things occurred. 

Fred Russell sat upon the edge of his bam- 
boo cot, greasing the breech-block of his rifle 
with a piece of bacon rind, when Klondyke 
Jones came over to him and whispered : — 
Atwell’s in arrest, an’ th’ orders is t’ take 
’im t’ prison in th’ mornin’. It’s more o’ thet 
’ere varmint’s work. Git into action. Th’ 
lad will march agin th’ enemy with his regi- 
ment instid o’ goin’ t’ prison, or my name 
ain’t Klondyke Jones.” 

Russell jumped to his feet with a smothered 


2i6 


WINNING HIS WAY 


exclamation, and followed the '' ole sojer/’ 
When the time came for action, it was not 
Klondyke’s habit to hesitate. There were no 
careful deliberations in his mind as to possible 
dangers and entanglements once his strong 
conviction had assured him that he was 
honest and square.” 

In a moment Klondyke stood over Private 
Leland Carlysle Jackson as he lay upon his 
blanket and softly hummed an operatic air. 

“ Jackson,” commanded Klondyke, git up 
an’ come ’long with me. We’ve got a little 
bone t’ pick t’gether, an’ I don’t want t’ dis- 
turb people with the sound o’ th’ crunchin’.” 

Jackson rose languidly upon his elbow. 

When I want your company, Jones,” he 
said sneeringly, I’ll send for you.” 

Klondyke caught Jackson by the arm and 
threw all the force of his powerful muscles 
into an upward heave, and Jackson felt him- 
self flung through the air with a force it 
would be madness to resist. When Klon- 
dyke landed him savagely against a clump of 
banana-trees, thirty feet from the starting- 
point, Jackson was too much frightened to 
offer further resistance. 


TO WEST POINT 


217 


'' Now,” said Klondyke, as he laid his steel- 
like grip upon the shoulders of his prisoner, 
we’re out o’ ear-shot, an’ I have this t’ tell 
ye. Atwell’s been placed in arrest, an’ neither 
you nor me has t’ ask why. But if ye think 
ye’ve ruined thet ’ere innocent boy, you’re 
mistaken. I’ve crossed yer tracks, Jackson, 
an’ we’ve got th’ documents thet show ye up. 
Jest one more trick like this an’ I’ll have 
ye drummed out o’ camp, an’, besides. I’ll 
follow ye up an’ larrup ye till ye beg fur yer 
life.” 

Klondyke’s terrible grip had been gradu- 
ally tightening upon Jackson’s throat, and he 
tossed the young collegian about with a vio- 
lence which suggested the consequences to 
Jackson if their paths crossed again. 

Klondyke released his hold. Now,” said 
he, “ me an’ Russell’s goin’ to Lieutenant 
Milton t’ lay th’ evidence we’ve got before 
’im, but ye needn’t quake, fur we’re not th’ 
kind t’ drag a name in th’ mud unless we 
must. But I warn ye if anything happens to 
Atwell, ye’ve got me t’ fight.” 

“ And the same remarks apply to me. Jack- 
son,” added Russell, as he and Klondyke 


2i8 


WINNING HIS WAY 


turned away, leaving the frantic young soldier 
to whimper out his threats to the unheeding 
night wind. 

There was no time to be lost. As Klondyke 
and Russell hurried toward Lieutenant Mil- 
ton's tent, the “ ole sojer ” glanced uneasily 
toward his companion. 

“ Say, Russell," said he, “ I ain't much on 
jaw-bone" (soldier term for fluent talking). 
“Ye better do th' honors with th' Lieu- 
tenant." 

“ I thought you were doing very well a 
few moments ago," responded Russell. 

“ Thet 'ere wuz mule drivin', lad, an' I'm 
a fair hand at thet job, but when I git up 
'fore th' Lieutenant, I feel 's if I'd druv my 
team inter th' parlor with all th' mules 
astraddle the poles an’ traces." 

“ All right, Klondyke," whispered Russell 
as he knocked at the tent pole, “ you have 
busted the broncho. I’ll take the credit 
for it." 

We may pass over the long conversation 
that took place within. Suffice it to say that 
the whole story of Atwell's relation to Jack- 
son was laid bare to the astonished officer. 


TO WEST POINT 


219 

Not a word or hint of all this had reached 
him before. 

It was nearly nine o’clock when Fred Rus- 
sell unfolded the captured letter which Doug- 
las Atwell had found on the body of Ramon 
Pacheco when the latter attempted to cross 
the lines with this letter and the orders to 
burn the city in his possession. 

There upon the back was Russell’s official 
affirmation of the circumstances under which 
it was brought to him when Douglas ap- 
pealed to him for advice after the discovery 
of the dangerous nature of the correspond- 
ence. 

But, more convincing than all this, Lieu- 
tenant Milton remembered Jackson’s stupid 
and malicious attempt to convict Douglas 
Atwell of having sold to the enemy the two 
rifles which disappeared on the night of Feb- 
ruary 22d — the very crime contemplated in 
this forged letter. 

“ And one of these rifles was Jackson’s,” 
thought the Lieutenant as he paced restlessly 
up and down the tent, but there is time 
yet,” he reflected, glancing at his watch. Get 
your rifles, belts, and canteens, and saddle 


220 


WINNING HIS WAY 


three of the horses, and be back here as 
quickly as you can. We’ll settle this ques- 
tion to-night.” 

Within fifteen minutes the young officer 
and his escort of two were galloping along 
the road to Manila as fast as their little 
ponies could carry them. In an hour they 
reined up in front of the office of the Pro- 
vost Marshal-General. But the place was 
closed and the sentinel on duty informed 
them that the General might be found at his 
quarters. 

“ It is after business hours,” said an Aide 
as the perspiring little officer climbed the 
General’s veranda, “ and the General should 
not be disturbed unless the business is of the 
utmost importance.” 

“ Let me see the General and I will con- 
vince him of the importance of my mission,” 
answered Lieutenant Milton. 

Only one familiar with the weary heart- 
breaking grind of an officer’s work in the 
Philippines, and the sanctity of his hours of 
rest, can realize what it meant for an obscure 
Lieutenant to force his way into the General’s 
private residence, to demand a revocation of 


TO WEST POINT 


221 


the orders which the General had caused to 
be promulgated. 

But he was working for the honor of a 
name, and with characteristic tenacity he re- 
fused to be denied until the papers which 
had furnished the evidence in the case were 
laid before him. 

Among these papers was an anonymous 
letter, without date or heading, which read as 
follows : — 

The Provost Marshal- General, 

Manila, P. I. 

Sir : — 

From information received from a 
faithful muchacho,^ I understand that Pri- 
vate Douglas Atwell of Company M, th 

Infantry, is holding correspondence with the 
Insurgents with a view to selling them rifles 
and ammunition. Further, I understand 
that on the night of March 23d, Private At- 
well is to meet a number of Insurgents in 
reer of the regimental storehouse, and assist 
them in forcing an entrance in order to se- 
cure a number of rifles of sick soldiers whose 
equipment has been stored for the contem- 
plated campaign. 

* Muchacho — a boy. The term is generally applied to a boy serv- 
ant. 


222 


WINNING HIS WAY 


If some trusted person be sent to the spot 
indicated at about 12 : 00 p. m., March 23d, I 
believe the conspirators may be captured. 

Trusting that I may be doing the govern- 
ment a service, 

I am very respectfully, 

A Non-combatant. 

'' Our man went down there at the hour in- 
dicated,’^ continued the Aide, “ and arrested 
the natives whom he found waiting behind 
the storehouse.” 

A search of the natives’ clothing resulted in 
the discovery of these documents. The Aide 
laid two sheets of paper on the table. 

The first was a letter which read as 
follows : — 

Col. Quicoy SiongcOj 

Manila^ P. L 

Sir : — 

I am sending you, through one of 
your faithful spies, a map of the regimental 
storehouse where a number of the company 
rifles have been stored. If you will send to 
the point marked X on this map a number 
of your surest men, I will meet them there at 
about 12:00 p. m., March 23d, and we will 
break into the storehouse by means of some 


TO WEST POINT 


223 

keys I possess, and I will turn over about ten 
good, serviceable rifles. 

The one who is in charge of your men 
must carry this letter that I may not be de- 
ceived, and of course he must deliver the 
funds which we have agreed upon before I 
will act. 

Should the bearer be approached by Amer- 
ican sentinels or other persons, he should 
show no fear, and under no circumstances 
should he run away. 

Very respectfully, 

Douglas Atwell, 
Private, Co. M, th Infantry. 

The second document was a map of the reg- 
imental storehouse of the th Infantry, 

marked X at the point at which Col. 
Quicoy Siongco^s men were to meet ‘‘ Doug- 
las Atwell.” 

Lieutenant Milton had called Klondyke 
Jones and Russell to compare the handwrit- 
ing of these documents with that of the letter 
found on the body of Ramon Pacheco, but 
the handwriting seemed to bear no apparent 
resemblance. 

'' Look,” said Russell eagerly as he held the 
two documents side by side, the word ^ rear ^ 


224 


WINNING HIS WAY 


is misspelled in both letters, and in both, the 
same mistake has been made. These letters 
have been written by the same man.’^ 

Without this discovery Atwell’s innocence 
was only a matter of inference, but there was 
the unmistakable evidence of identity in the 
two letters. 

The word rear was spelled “ reer ” in both 
cases. 

‘‘ Now I must see the General,” cried 
Lieutenant Milton exultingly as he turned to 
the Aide. 

“ Here I am, young man,” said the General, 
as he entered the room. What progress 
have you made in your case ? ” 

The startled group jumped to attention, and 
there in the presence of Klondyke Jones, the 
mule driver, Fred Russell, the graduate of the 
University of California, the Provost Marshal- 
General of Manila, and his Aide, Lieutenant 
Milton eloquently presented the case of Pri- 
vate Douglas Atwell, a prisoner charged with 
treason. 

The General folded his arms and listened 
attentively to the young officer’s earnest and 
convincing defense, and when Lieutenant 


TO WEST POINT 


225 


Milton paused, he said with a smile, “ In spite 
of the seriousness of the charge, I think 3mur 
man is acquitted. You may release Atwell 
from arrest, and I will explain in the morn- 
ing to the corps commander. 


CHAPTER XIV 


OFF WITH THE REGIMENT AT DAWN 

It was nearly midnight when Lieutenant 
Milton and his escort rode into camp from the 
office of the Provost Marshal-General where he 
had secured authority to release Douglas At- 
well from confinement. 

The horses were hastily unsaddled, pick- 
eted and fed, and the three tired riders 
walked toward the guard tent where Douglas 
lay a prisoner. 

“Halt! Who’s there?” cried the sentinel 
who faithfully performed the useless task of 
guarding a prisoner who would meet death 
rather than attempt an escape. 

“ Friends,” responded Lieutenant Milton. 

“ Advance one to be recognized,” answered 
the sentinel. 

“ Remain here, men,” said the Lieutenant, 
addressing Klondyke and Russell, as he ad- 
vanced toward the sentinel, “ and be ready to 
meet Atwell when I send him out.” 

226 


TO WEST POINT 


227 


Lieutenant Milton entered the guard tent 
and bent over the prostrate form of the boy. 

‘‘ Atwell.’^ 

Yes, sir,” responded Douglas as he rose 
and stood at attention. Every trace of anxi- 
ety had left him, and he was the same quiet 
and self-respecting boy who had won the es- 
teem of his associates when but a farmer lad 
in his Shawangunk Mountain home in east- 
ern New York. 

Atwell,” said Lieutenant Milton in a tone 
which thrilled with kindness and sympathy, 
yet invited no familiarity, “ I have secured 
authority to have you restored at once to 
duty. You ma}’' return to your tent, and 
think no more of this affair. I trust to your 
good sense that this unavoidable humiliation 
which has been forced upon you, will in no 
way destroy your self-respect, or arrest your 
career to honorable distinction. I give you 
my deepest sympathy and assure you of my 
fullest confidence. I did not for a moment 
believe the charge, and though it is apparent 
that the accusation is groundless, yet we can- 
not lay hands on the guilty person.” 

“ I cannot express my gratitude, sir,” said 


228 


WINNING HIS WAY 


Douglas, his voice slightly trembling in spite 
of his effort to control it. 

Atwell is released, sentinel,” said Lieuten- 
ant Milton as he emerged from the tent with 
Douglas, and now, Atwell,” he continued, 
only a few of your friends know the nature 
of the charge. Go right ahead as usual. 
Maintain absolute silence, and report any new 
developments to me. Every effort must be 
made to locate the guilty person.” 

The restraints imposed by military ethics 
prevented a full expression of Private Douglas 
AtwelPs gratitude to the Lieutenant, but had 
he been at liberty to do so, no words could 
have described the feeling that swept over him 
as he walked away from that prison tent, free 
from the odious charge ; free to march again 
in the sweeping ranks that would form at the 
first break of dawn. 

Not a word was spoken as Douglas felt the 
warm grasp of his comrades and realized that 
it -was through them that he had won his lib- 
erty. As the three friends stood together un- 
der the swaying bamboo-trees, Douglas heard 
the story of Klondyke’s encounter with Jack- 
son, of the interview with Lieutenant Milton, 


TO WEST POINT 


229 


of the ride to Manila, and of the “ game little 
Lieutenant's’^ efforts to free him from the 
charge against him. Douglas forgot the pain 
which the occurrence had caused him, as he 
realized that he possessed such valiant friends. 

The sky was suffused with the purple tint 
of approaching dawn when the three soldiers 
of the Republic rolled upon their blankets for 
a few hours of much needed sleep. 

One thousand yards separated the two hos- 
tile lines whose expectant sentinels lay far out 
to the front, eyes straining through the dark- 
ness for any indication of attempts at surprise. 
Thousands of armed men lay sleeping on the 
cartridges whose steel-capped bullets would 
soon be tearing gaping holes through human 
flesh, and strewing the fields with dead and 
wounded ; yet such is the nature of the hu- 
man animal that he sleeps on indifferent to 
the fate of the approaching day. 

Within ten paces of Douglas lay Private 
Leland C. Jackson, his handsome head resting 
upon his arm, as he slept upon his rifle. Had 
he gone to sleep with a guilty conscience ? 

Douglas could not say, for the man who had 
forged his name had covered his tracks so ef- 


230 


WINNING HIS WAY 


fectually as to defy the efforts of the Provost 
Marshal-General’s office to discover his iden- 
tity. However conclusive might be the infer- 
ences of guilt, no official cognizance could be 
taken of them until positive, tangible proofs 
could be secured. 

If Private Jackson felt any surprise at see- 
ing Douglas in the ranks at reveille the next 
morning he carefully masked his feelings, and 
took his place in the squad with an indiffer- 
ence of manner which suggested nothing at 
all to the keen and watchful eye of Klondyke 
Jones. 

“ But he’ll have something else to think 
about to-day, Klondyke,” said Douglas, as the 
company fell in for breakfast. “ I am glad, 
however, that only my friends know the 
charge that was trumped up against me, and 
the incident is likely to be forgotten during 
the campaign.” 

A suggestive intermittent sound came to the 
ears of the speakers. 

“What’s that, Klondyke?” said Douglas, 
holding his breath and straining to hear. 

“ Thet ’ere’s musketry,” said the “ ole sojer.” 
“ The fight’s begun on th’ right. They’re 


TO WEST POINT 


231 


swingin' t' th' left, an’ we’ll be ’bout th’ last t’ 
hit th’ Insurgents’ line, ’cause we’re near th’ 
pivot, but there’ll be some good fightin’ ’fore 
th’ day is done, an’ we’ll jest rip this ’ere island 
clean open from stem t’ stern inside o’ three 
months.” 

Douglas felt a chill creep down his spine as 
he heard the emphatic words of the old vet- 
eran, through whose gallant efforts he was 
able to share in the glorious campaign, and 
march with th’ boys at dawn.” 

It was twenty minutes of six o’clock. The 
gallant Nebraska regiment, under Colonel 
Stotsenburg, was assaulting the enemy in an 
intrenched position in front of San Francisco 
del Monte, and the successive regiments on 
their left patiently awaited their turn to 
attack. General MacArthur’s brilliant cam- 
paign had begun, and the Nebraskans had 
been given the privilege of opening the first 
engagement. It was a natural and well- 
merited honor, for it will be remembered that 
the insurrection was precipitated by the In- 
surgents’ attempt, on the night of February 
4th, to force their way past the Nebraska’s 
sentinel at the bridge across the San Juan 


232 


WINNING HIS WAY 


River ; and now as the sun sent up his first 
fiery glow in the east, the rifles of the Ne- 
braskans hoarsely greeted the dawn. 

Before their impetuous charge, the hostile 
lines broke in confusion, and one by one the 
regiments from flank to pivot pressed forward 
to the attack. Lying upon their rifles in the 
bamboo thickets, the men of the th In- 

fantry saw the Third Artillery moving forward 
on their right, and they knew that their turn 
would come next. 

“ Who is that, Russell ? ” asked Douglas 
Atwell, as he saw a superbly-mounted officer 
riding toward the regimental headquarters. 

“ That is General Wheaton, who commands 
the brigade,’’ said Russell. “ He is one of the 
finest fighters in the service, and we are for- 
tunate to be under his command.” 

Evidently the General had ordered the at- 
tack, for a bugle-call pealed out from the 
bamboo near regimental headquarters and 
the musicians along the line were repeating 
the notes. 

Douglas felt a quickening of his nerves as 
the line rose and moved forward in obedience 
to the bugle’s voice. As the whole line, eight 


TO WEST POINT 


233 


miles in length, was conducting a swinging 
movement over a rough terrain covered with 
dense bamboo jungles, the fighting necessarily 
assumed the aspect of a series of detached 
combats. 

Within a few moments after the advance 

began, the th Infantry had lost sight of 

the rest of the line, and the Third Battalion 
found itself practically alone. In skirmishes 
of this kind, the soldier becomes isolated, 
passes beyond the command of his superiors ; 
individuality manifests itself, and battles are 
won or lost on his initiative. As the line 
pressed on through the denser underbrush, 
Douglas noticed that Corporal Casey paid no 
attention to him, but had placed himself be- 
hind Jackson and watched his every move- 
ment, and though Jackson assumed a sneering 
indifference, it was apparent that he was not 
enjoying the scrutiny. 

The enemy^s fire had opened on the ad- 
vancing line, but the shots flew high and 
wild, while the sounds of a fierce struggle 
could be heard off to the right. It seemed 
that the battalion was to win its position 
practically without a fight, when a warm fire 


234 


WINNING HIS WAY 


opened from a line of entrenchments five 
hundred yards to the front. 

Commands were unnecessary. The* long, 
irritating delay had whetted the desire of 
the men to fight, and before the terrific mus- 
ketry of the rapidly advancing line, the In- 
surgents gave way long before charging dis- 
tance had been reached. It was a judicious 
retreat, for behind this force of Insurgents lay 
the Tuliahan River, swift, deep, and unford- 
able. Their only avenue of escape was the 
railroad bridge far to left, toward which they 
broke in great disorder. 

The line plunged forward with desperate 
energy, but the tangled underbrush fiung the 
Americans on their faces, the straps of the 
heavily-laden canteen and haversack cut into 
their fiesh, and struggle as they would the 
light-footed natives reached the bridge and 
raced into the line of entrenchments on the 
north bank of the Tuliahan, where one thou- 
sand of their comrades awaited their arrival. 

The battalion was within one hundred yards 
of the river when out from the fringe of bam- 
boo and banana-trees on the north bank came 
the crash of these thousand Mausers, answered 


TO WEST POINT 


235 


almost instantly by the ready Krags from 
flank to flank. Flat upon their stomachs the 
men crept forward, firing as they went, until 
they halted on the river’s brink. 

The contending lines were now separated 
only by the width of the stream, and across 
its placid surface the duel was raging. It was 
soon apparent, however, that the Insurgents 
could not be driven from their position so 
long as the grim barrier of the Tuliahan lay 
across their front. 

Three plans suggested themselves. The 
enemy’s line might be pierced by forcing a 
crossing at the railroad bridge, but two thou- 
sand Insurgent rifles would be concentrated 
on the party attempting the crossing, and 
after inflicting terrible injury, the enemy 
could withdraw with but slight loss. It was 
possible to swim the river, leap into the 
trenches and close the engagement in a hand 
to hand struggle ; but, shackled by his heavy 
equipment, every soldier wounded in the 
stream would sink to certain death, and only 
the most desperate emergency would justify 
such a course. Finally, it was possible to ex- 
plore the stream toward its source, cross at the 


236 WINNING HIS WAY 

first practicable ford, and fall upon the In- 
surgent rear with certainty of victory and the 
chance of minimum loss. 

‘‘ And I have a man who can find such a 
ford,” said Lieutenant Milton, as he stood dis- 
cussing the situation with the other officers 
of the battalion, on this sweltering afternoon. 

“ Very well, Milton,” said the battalion 
commander, when I come for you have 
your man on hand, and we will see what can 
be done.” 

It was Major Greene who spoke, he who 
had recently been promoted to the command 
of a battalion. Major Marfeigh, broken in 
health and worn out by a long and arduous 
career, had returned to the States, and the 
fate of the battalion now rested in the hands 
of Major Greene, his young, hardy, and cour- 
ageous successor. 

When Lieutenant Milton rejoined his com- 
pany it was late in the afternoon and the 
fierce glare of the sun fell slantingly on the 
blistered faces of the exhausted men. 

In spite of the advantageous position of the 
enemy, but few Americans had been hit, while 
every head or hand that remained above the 


TO WEST POINT 


237 

Insurgent trench was fortunate to escape with 
a single wound. 

Corporal Casey’s valiant spirit never flagged, 
and while he moved from point to point along 
his squad, he invariably returned and placed 
himself within a pace of Private Jackson. 

Corporal Casey was kneeling beside him 
when a malicious face suddenly appeared 
above the Insurgent trench, behind the barrel 
of a rifle. A shot rang out across the Tuliahan 
and the bullet struck the stock and barrel of 
Jackson’s rifle, rising over his shoulder with 
a shrill whistle, and spattering his face with 
pieces of wood and lead. 

Jackson clapped his hands to his face and 
rolled over on his back, moaning, “ I’m shot ! 
I’m shot ! ” 

“ Where ? ” asked Corporal Casey as he 
jammed a new cartridge into his rifle to be 
ready for the next exposure of the Insurgent. 

Through the head, ’’groaned Jackson. 

“ Be aisy, thin, me lad, fur ye’ll get over it. 
Thim thit’s shot through th’ head kapes mighty 
quiet about it th’ rest av ther lives. Yer a 
fine sprig av a sojer, Jackson, indade ye are. 
But ye’ve conquered yer ginerous propinsity 


238 WINNING HIS WAY 

t’ take care av th’ wounded an^ that’s good in 
a fightin’ man. Rest a while, me lad. I’ll 
kape th’ place war-rm fur ye till ye come t’ 
life.” 

Corporal Casey once more squinted along 
the barrel of his rifle, while Jackson lay be- 
hind a small rise in the ground and trembled 
in every muscle. 

He had certainly had a narrow escape, for 
the brim of his hat was torn by the jagged 
bullet as it leaped from his rifle barrel, and 
blood trickled from lacerations on his cheek. 

It was now nearly six o’clock in the even- 
ing, and the battalion had had neither rest nor 
food since eight o’clock that morning. The 
enemy’s Are was subsiding along the whole 
line, and, no longer held by the Are in front, 
Douglas Atwell turned his eyes along the line 
of the squad. There lay Jackson pale as death, 
with the blood congealing in black drops on 
his drawn cheek, and the boy’s heart melted 
with pity for his fallen foe. Crawling over to 
Jackson’s side, Douglas asked, 

Where are you wounded ? Let me help 
you.” 

By a strange coincidence he had repeated 


TO WEST POINT 


239 


the words he had used, when, searching for 
wounded after the capture of blockhouse No. 
14, he had suddenly come upon Jackson 
hiding behind a clump of bamboo. 

Jackson turned a pale, sick face toward 
Douglas as if beseeching help which his proud 
tongue declined to ask. 

As the stopper was out of Jackson’s can- 
teen, Douglas guessed that the nervous strain 
of the fight had induced him to drink indis- 
creetly, and now he was without water to re- 
lieve his parched throat. Douglas handed 
him his canteen, and Jackson drank fever- 
ishly, rolled over upon his side, and some- 
thing very like a tear glistened beneath his 
eyelids. 

Douglas rose to leave him, and stood face to 
face with Lieutenant Milton and Major 
Greene, the battalion commander. 

Although Lieutenant Milton had seen all 
that had occurred, his face betrayed nothing, 
and he addressed Douglas in his usual calm 
and businesslike tone. 

Atwell,” said he, “ you made a reconnais- 
sance behind the enemy’s lines and reached 
this river.” 


240 


WINNING HIS WAY 


Yes, sir.” 

Your report and map showed a ford where 
you had observed a native wading the river.” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Could you find that ford now ? ” 

I think I could, sir.” 

In the dark ? ” asked Major Greene. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

How far is it from here ? ” 

About a mile, sir.” 

How deep is the water? ” 

Waist to neck deep, sir.” 

Douglas drew from the pocket of his blue 
flannel shirt his rough pencil sketch of the 
ford and its approaches, and handed it to Major 
Greene. 

“ The trail we crossed this morning during 
the advance runs to the ford, 1 believe. At 
any rate, I will be able to find it, sir.” 

Very well,” said Major Greene, ‘‘ hold 
yourself in readiness to lead the battalion to 
that ford at daybreak to-morrow morning.” 


CHAPTER XV 


FORDING THE TULIAHAN 

When Douglas Atwell lay in the under- 
brush and sketched a half naked Filipino 
wading neck deep across the Tuliahan, he 
little dreamed that the result of a battle 
would hinge upon his act. But such was the 
case. The battalion had been held in front of 
the unfordable section of the stream by the 
Insurgents on the opposite bank, and it was 
now apparent that only one reasonable plan 
presented itself — that of crossing at the nearest 
available ford, and of striking the Insurgent 
trenches in flank and rear. And, by order of 
Major Greene, the battalion commander, 
Douglas Atwell was to “ lead the battalion 
at daybreak to the ford he himself had dis- 
covered. 

The hostile fire had subsided as the evening 
approached, and the tired and hungry men 
rolled back from the little rise along the river 
241 


242 


WINNING HIS WAY 


bank, where stacks of empty cartridge shells 
told the story of the day’s work. Wherever 
slight cover could be secured, the squads 
lighted small fires, and there, almost under the 
enemy’s parapet, they prepared to cook a 
hasty meal. 

Corporal Casey’s squad was never short of 
provisions, and in a few minutes each of his 
men had a pint of hot coffee, with warm 
corned beef and fried bacon to make the dry 
hardtack palatable. In spite of his blistered 
lips and the pain in his sunburned face, 
Douglas ate his allowance with keen enjoy- 
ment while he told Klondyke and Russell of 
the duty that had fallen to his lot. They 
were delighted to hear of his good fortune and 
of the prospect of winning new laurels for 
the gallant old regiment. 

Bullets hissed about the groups, but the 
tired men paid little heed, and like many a 
young soldier on his first campaign, Douglas 
marveled that so much ammunition could be 
expended with so little damage. 

The other two battalions of the regiment 
came up during the evening and bivouacked 
with their weary comrades. 


TO WEST POINT 


243 


From right to left the entire line had swept 
victoriously over the hostile trenches, and 
Luna’s troops were falling back, though still 
in good order, and stubbornly contesting the 
field. As darkness closed down across the 

surface of the Tuliahan, the th Infantry 

withdrew several hundred yards to secure the 
protection of a slight elevation. Outposts 
were advanced to the river bank, and a com- 
pany was designated to guard the crossing at 
the railroad bridge. Thus protected from the 
possibility of surprise during the night, the 
tired soldiers lay down to sleep. 

“ You will light no fires along the line,” said 
Lieutenant Milton as he moved among his 
men. “ Do not even strike a match. In the 
morning you will be awakened before day- 
light, and will get some coffee and hardtack 
back in the sunken road, where Sergeant 
Haller and Fagin will be found. The success 
of your work to-morrow will depend on 
getting off quietly in the morning.” 

The company heard with delight the im- 
plied statement that some difficult task, some 
adventure, was to be attempted in the morning, 
for there is nothing so delights the American 


244 WINNING HIS WAY 

soldier as the difficult, the hazardous, the 
untried. 

Douglas lay between Klondyke and Russell, 
and soon fell asleep, but Russell lay awake 
listening to the humorous analysis and criti- 
cism of the campaign by the soldier strate- 
gists of the company. 

“ It would have made a dog laugh,” said 
Russell next morning, to hear ^ Von Moltke ^ 
Schleusswig, the flying Dutchman, ^ Tip ^ 
O’Shaughnessy, the ^ Fenian,^ ‘ Sneeze ’ Mc- 
Carthy, the Russian Jew, and Gregory Chan- 
dler of the University of California, discuss- 
ing and disputing the merits of the campaign.” 

The dispute was ended, however, at its cli- 
max by the peremptory orders of Sergeant 
Collins to blow out the gas and go to sleep.” 

One soldier only lay wide awake and mis- 
erable, separated from the rest of his fellows, 
his pale, nervous face turned toward the cold, 
pitiless moon that drifted like a ghost across 
the tops of the swaying bamboos ; and that 
man was Jackson. 

Beside him lay his rifle, scored by the bul- 
let which had left its bloody kiss upon his 
cheek, and Jackson was the only man who 


TO WEST POINT 


245 


knew that this bullet had been fired from a 
Krag- Jorgensen rifle ; that behind the trenches 
on the north bank of the Tuliahan were 
Col. Quicoy Siongco and his band of desperate 
outlaws. 

No one can know the mental anguish that 
Jackson suffered as he tossed from side to side 
and wore away the sleepless hours until Reddy 
Fagin came running along the line, and quietly 
awakened the men for breakfast. He, Ser- 
geant Haller and Babong had prepared a 
rough but hearty meal, and the company ate 
in a silence which invariably settles over troops 
about to undertake a hazardous enterprise. 

It was not yet light enough to see the faces 
of the men in the ranks when Douglas At- 
well moved to the head of the column beside 
Major Greene and Lieutenant Milton, and led 

by M Company, the th Infantry drew 

silently out behind its youthful guide toward 
the ford of the Tuliahan. A thin line of skir- 
mishers had been left behind to open fire at 
daybreak and hold the enemy’s attention 
while the main body crept around the end of 
the formidable trench. The stars were still 
shining like pale candles in the sky, and only 


246 WINNING HIS WAY 

the soft, muffled tread of the men and the 
gentle clink, clink of the bayonets could be 
heard as the long sinuous column groped its 
way slowly along the path where Douglas At- 
well led. By order of Major Greene Douglas 
rode a native pony which had been captured 
from an Insurgent officer who had been killed 
during the retreat from the first line of en- 
trenchments on the preceding day, and the 
gifted little animal selected the path with an 
intelligence which was very gratifying to his 
anxious rider. 

Like many boys bred to a country life, 
Douglas possessed a natural preparation for 
the duty which was now before him. 

The stars could guide him, the trees had 
their message as to the soil that fed them and 
their proximity to the stream along which the 
Insurgents lay. Without hesitation he led 
the regiment farther and farther away from 
the direction which common observation would 
dictate, but in half an hour he emerged 
abruptly upon the trail which he believed led 
to the ford. 

How far are we from your crossing, At- 
well?’’ whispered Major Greene. 


TO WEST POINT 


247 

** About three-quarters of a mile, sir,” an- 
swered Douglas. 

^‘Then deploy your company as advance 
guard, Milton,” said the Major as he turned to 
his faithful Lieutenant, “ and see that the men 
maintain absolute silence.” 

As the point,” consisting of a Corporal and 
three privates, stepped out in obedience to 
Lieutenant Milton's low command, Major 
Greene and Douglas Atwell led the way down 
the narrow trail. So dense was the under- 
brush that “ flankers ” could not be sent out 
to the sides, but the company drew out in de- 
tachments increasing in strength toward the 
regimental column behind, and at the tip of 
this delicate feeler ” for danger, rode Doug- 
las Atwell and the battalion commander. A 
half hour passed, and still the tall bamboos 
enveloped the trail in almost perfect darkness. 
Douglas' face burned with feverish anxiety as 
he strained his eyes to the right and left for 
some familiar mark to assure him that he was 
following the proper course. 

At any moment a volley might ring out 
down the trail laying the feelers ” dead in 
their tracks. The delight of Douglas Atwell 


248 WINNING HIS WAY 

may therefore be imagined as he rode out from 
the overhanging bamboo and beheld the point 
from which he had made his sketch. Two 
hundred yards to the front lay the placid sur- 
face of the Tuliahan, glittering like a silver 
sheet behind the green foliage. Douglas drew 
a breath of relief, then turned to the battalion 
commander. 

“ Yonder is the ford, sir,'’ he said. 

Good," returned the Major. ‘‘ We will 
cross at once. Lead the way, Atwell." 

Douglas urged his little pony down the 
steep bank, following the course taken by the 
native whom he had seen wading the stream. 
Major Greene was beside him, and behind them 
came the men, with rifles and knapsacks thrust 
high above their heads, for the water rose to 
their armpits ere they made their way to the 
opposite bank. 

No point could have been better chosen for 
the crossing. Far to the left, a road crossed 
the stream, but, though the bridge had been 
destroyed, a large force of Insurgents were on 
guard there. Here, only the inhabitants of 
an isolated group of houses used this obscure 


TO WEST POINT 


249 

ford, and not a hostile rifle protected this 
point of fatal weakness. 

“Put your company in line of skirmishers 
perpendicular to the river, Milton,” said 
Major Greene, as the dripping men scrambled 
up the bank. “ The other companies will go 
in on your right.” 

An hour had passed and the sun was blaz- 
ing over the mountain-tops of Morong before 
the last man had reached his position, but the 

th Infantry had crossed the Tuliahan 

without firing a shot, and the rout of the In- 
surgents was assured. 

“You may now rejoin your company, At- 
well,” said Major Greene. “ You have done 
an invaluable service, and I will take great 
pleasure in mentioning your name in my 
report to superior authority. We will score a 
fine victory to-day through your dexterity 
and ability to observe.” 

Douglas shouldered his rifle and returned 
to Corporal Casey on the skirmish line. 

The sun might beat like drops of molten 
metal upon his head, but he would not feel it; 
the straps might cut into his flesh, but the 
flesh would ignore the pain ; his lips might 


250 


WINNING HIS WAY 


parch, and split and sting, but what cared 
he — he was drinking from the sweet cup of 
success, and vindicating a name which an en- 
emy had attempted to defile. 

Douglas crushed through obstacles that rose 
in his path with a strength which surprised 
even himself as the long skirmish line swept 
on toward the exposed Insurgent fiank. 

Engaged by the rifiemen who had been left 
in their front, the Insurgents were lying be- 
hind their trenches boasting of how success- 
fully they had stopped the American advance, 
when Major Greene’s skirmish line, supported 
by another battalion of the regiment, emerged 
from the bamboo jungle upon their fiank. 

Under such circumstances the best troops 
must give way, but the Insurgents fought 
each other in their frantic efforts to escape. 
The company which had guarded the railroad 
bridge during the night now charged across, 
and added the volume of its fire to that of 
Major Greene’s battalion upon the fleeing 
enemy. 

Sweeping the abandoned trench from end 
to end. Major Greene gathered up the rifles 
and trophies of war that strewed the field. 


TO WEST POINT 


251 


The line halted at the railroad, and the 
troops on the right flank climbed the slope 
of a ridge which ran perpendicular to the 
track. As they appeared upon the summit a 
deadly Are swept the ridge from a line of en- 
• trenchments across the railroad 300 yards 
to the front, to which the routed occupants of 
the trench had retreated. 

After a rapid inspection of the situation. 
Major Greene swung the battalion about 
across the railroad tracks, and advanced to the 
summit of the ridge. The opposing forces 
were now located on the crests of parallel 
ridges with a deep ravine between, while 800 
yards beyond the Insurgent position rose the 
church spires of Malinta. A two-foot stone 
wall surrounded the church, with trenches ex- 
tending laterally from the flanks, and already 
the Insurgents were making ready for the de- 
fense of their final position. The enemy had 
erected tall bamboo poles provided with nipa 
flags at intervals of about one hundred yards 
on a straight line from the Malinta church to 
the railroad bridge across the Tuliahan, and 
thus the exact range of the American line 
would be known at every stage of the assault. 


252 


WINNING HIS WAY 


Nevertheless, it required but a glance of 
Major Greeners experienced eye to see that 
immediate attack was the only possible 
solution of the problem. 

“ Fill magazines ! Fix bayonets ! were 
the commands he sent down the eager line. 

Rapid fire ! Commence firing ! ” 

With his arms folded across his sturdy 
chest, Major Greene watched his terrific fire 
gradually crushing down the enemy behind 
the trenches, and then he turned to the 
soldier at his elbow. 

Sound the charge, orderly. 

Musician Macklin raised his bugle to his 
lips — Macklin, who had served the regiment 
for twenty years, he whose wonderful notes 
had trembled out over the mountain snow- 
drifts of the Dakotas, had rallied the 
regiment in the canons of the Colorado ; 
Macklin, who had blown the same defiant 
notes in the face of howling mobs of hostile 
Sioux and Apaches, was once more sounding 
the “ charge.” 

Not a waver showed in the line as it rose as 
if born of the bugle’s voice, and rushed 
down into the ravine with a mighty cheer 


TO WEST POINT 


253 

that rolled over the tumult to the trenches 
of Malinta. 

Through the ravine ran a swale of nipa- 
palm which broke the line and arrested the 
sweeping charge. Through this swamp, 
filled with black mud, the men were 
plunging when Douglas Atwell heard a great 
shout from the nipa a few paces to the right, 
and from the swaying and crushing of the 
tall plants, he knew that a desperate struggle 
was in progress. Douglas clutched his rifle 
and rushed through the nipa-palms toward 
the scene of action. 

There was the Queer Fellow,’’ his face 
spattered, his hat trampled in the black mud, 
standing over the prostrate and unconscious 
body of a native rifleman, while he faced two 
bolomen with his bayoneted rifle. 

“ Don’t shoot ’em, Atwell, they’re th’ 
critters thet butchered Dutchy Schmidt,” 
shouted the Queer Fellow ” as his tense 
muscles knotted up for a spring. It is 
impossible to conceive of the suddenness and 
force of the blow delivered by those muscles 
of steel, as the Queer Fellow ” leaped upon 
his opponent and shot forward the butt of his 


254 


WINNING HIS WAY 


rifle to the native’s chin. The man sank 
with broken neck, and the Queer Fellow ” 
dropped upon his knee in time to avoid the 
third native’s bolo as it hissed above his 
head, and rising beneath the weapon, he 
drove his bayonet through the native’s 
body. 

As the “ Queer Fellow ” towered like a 
Roman gladiator over his victims, the nipa- 
palms parted, and Philip Kelton tumbled 
headlong in the mud, and with a shield in his 
left hand and a bloody kampilan in his right, 
a native followed him. 

It was “ the Moro.” 

Douglas dropped his rifle to the guard and 
gathered all his energies for a lunge, but 
with a startled glance, the Moro sprang back 
through the nipa-palms, and vanished like a 
puff of smokeless powder. 

Douglas and Bill Smathers opened a rapid 
fire upon the nipa swamp, but no sound came 
back to indicate the whereabouts of the 
terrible fanatic. 

Philip Kelton was desperately, perhaps 
mortally wounded. His left arm was cut to 
the bone and badly fractured by a blow of the 


TO WEST POINT 


255 

kampilan which, if unimpeded, would have 
cut his head from his body. 

As it was, the partially arrested blade had 
reached his jaw, splitting his cheek from chin 
to ear. 

Pick up thet ’ere critter’s rifle, Atwell,” 
said the Queer Fellow,” an’ fetch it along 
while I carry Kelton. If it hadn’t been fur 
thet hard farmer’s jaw on ’im, thet ’ere whack 
would hev’ took th’ head ofl* ’im.” 

' Can’t we do something for these wounded 
natives ? ” suggested Douglas as he wiped the 
blood from Kelton ’s face. 

Them ain’t wounded natives, Atwell. 
Them’s th’ critters thet ambushed us on th’ 
road t’ Manila day after th’ capture o’ Passy. 
Thet ’ere varmint is th’ one thet stood in th’ 
road like he wuz an honest lab’rer, an’ give 
th’ signal t’ shoot us down ; th’ critter thet 
tried t’ shoot me in the back ; an’ they belong 
t’ th’ gang thet butchered Dutchy Schmidt 
an’ tried t’ burn his body. I said thet ’ere 
day thet if ever I met ’em in a fair an’ square 
fight, they’d git their gruel. We put ’em in 
prison, but they told stories till they got out 
an’ here they wuz lyin’ in th’ swamp with 


256 WINNING HIS WAY 

their fangs all whetted t' sting an’ git away. 
No, Atwell, them ain’t wounded. Them 
critters is dead. You needn’t send fur no 
doctor when Bill Smathers gits a rap at a 
critter thet don’t fight fair.” 

Then the terrible glare left the “ Queer 
Fellow’s ” eyes as he sank on his knees in the 
mud, and with the tenderness of a nurse, 
began wrapping Kel ton’s wounded arm with a 
“ first aid ” bandage. 

Slinging his rifie across his back he picked 
up the unconscious boy, and started toward 
the trench which the company had already 
captured several minutes before. 

Douglas pulled the native’s rifie from the 
mud and started to follow. 

Bill,” said he excitedly, it’s a Krag.” 

What number ? ” 

No. 67,883,” said Douglas as he wiped the 
mud from the breech block. 

Corporal Casey’s,” said Bill. “ Th’ one 
thet wuz stole on February 22d. He won’t 
steal another.” 

Douglas looked down regretfully on the 
dead face of the native. No, he would never 
steal another, but Bill Smathers had wrecked 


TO WEST POINT 


257 

one more chance of clearing up the mystery 
of the stolen rifles. 

As Douglas and the “ Queer Fellow ” 
climbed to the top of the slope with their 
wounded comrade, they saw the line enter- 
ing the town of Malinta. Troops on the right 
had completed the contemplated swinging 
movement, and the head of one of the columns 
was crossing the Malinta bridge. 

Cartridge shells strewed the slopes, and 
dead and wounded Americans and natives lay 
together. It had been a hard and desperate 
struggle. 

A horseman galloped up the hill behind 
the two soldiers, and called out. 

Where is Major Greene ? 

'' In Malinta, I s'pose,” said Bill. What 
d^ye want?” 

Colonel’s killed. Major Greene’s in com- 
mand of the regiment,” said the orderly as he 
galloped forward. 


CHAPTER XVI 


ACROSS THE MARILAO WITH THE TWENTIETH 
KANSAS 

The th Infantry had made the perilous 

crossing of the Tuliahan, had routed the 
enemy in three successive stands, and now 
enjoyed the undisputed honor of having 
captured the strongly defended city of Malinta ; 
but their valiant Colonel lay dead on the field 
with many of the bravest sons of the regiment. 
Major Greene, young, dashing and energetic, 
yet a tried and gallant soldier, had already 
assumed the responsibilities of his dead chief- 
tain. 

His movement upon the entrenchments of 
the Tuliahan had been conducted with skill 
and daring, and his superior officers expressed 
their gratitude. 

“ Milton,’^ said he, as he watched the regi- 
ment preparing to bivouac for the night on 
its own victorious battle-field, “ we’re getting 
lots of credit for this fight to-day, but when 
258 


TO WEST POINT 


259 

you boil it down the credit nearly belongs to 
the soldier every time. 

In these long skirmish line affairs, if we 
did not have the pure gold of loyalty in our 
ranks, not a man would ever charge over the 
enemy's trenches. We can put our men in 
the proper position, form the skirmish line, 
and indicate the place to be taken. The sol- 
dier then wins the fight on his own courage, 
and we are practically out of the game, so long 
as we fight through such jungles as we en- 
countered to-day. The man who deserves 
most credit for this success is that blue-eyed 
lad you sent me — Atwell. How long has he 
been in the service ? " 

He is practically a recruit. Major," said 
Lieutenant Milton, reported only a few days 
before the outbreak, but he has done remarka- 
ble service, and I expect unusual things from 
him. His talent for sketching was discovered 
by pure accident one day when we were mak- 
ing a reconnaissance close up to the enemy’s 
lines in front of Caloocan. He climbed to the 
top of a big tree and secured in a few minutes 
a better sketch of the Insurgent position than 
I could have made after a survey. I sent the 


26 o 


WINNING HIS WAY 


sketch in with my report, and I am told it 
was of great benefit in selecting points of 
weakness for the attack of yesterday morn- 
ing.’’ 

Little dreaming of the conversation which 
engaged the two officers, Douglas sat with 
Klondyke Jones and Fred Russell and related 
his experience when the line charged forward 
on the defenses of Malinta, and he, Kelton 
and the “ Queer Fellow ” encountered the 
bolomen in the nipa swale between the lines. 

‘‘ Klondyke,” Douglas was saying, “ the 
‘ Queer Fellow ’ is a marvel. He would 
have killed those three bolomen had he been 
armed only with a club. I never saw such 
ferocity, and if I did not know Bilks fine char- 
acter I would have thought him a regular 
wild beast.” 

After the fight Bill had remained with 
Douglas, forgetting his hunger and caring 
tenderly for Philip Kelton, until the surgeons 
and hospital corps had relieved them of their 
patient and assured them that Kelton would 
‘'pull through.” 

“ My great regret,” said Douglas, “ is that I 
did not close on the Moro quickly enough. 


TO WEST POINT 


261 


I^m too slow. Bill would have ‘ skewered ^ 
him in the twinkling of an eye. But he got 
away from me, and we’ll find him in front of 
us again when we least expect him. I’ve been 
thinking over the whole affair,” continued 
Douglas, and coupling up all our experiences, 
I am inclined to think that our old friend, 
Quicoy Siongco, was in front of us to-day. 
Two of the bolomen killed by the ^ Queer 
Fellow ’ we recognized as members of the 
gang which ambushed us in the road to Ma- 
nila on the 6th of February, and one of them 
had the rifle stolen from Corporal Casey on 
the night of February 22d. 

We have reason to believe that Col. Quicoy 
Siongco managed that affair, and where we 
find the guerrillas there we may expect to find 
the chief. 

Besides,” continued Douglas, as he scraped 
the black mud from his leggings and trousers, 
“ I’ve been thinking that our first collision 
with the Moro occurred that night on the out- 
posts when Ramon Pacheco was killed, and I 
found that letter on his body which was ad- 
dressed to Col. Quicoy Siongco and proposed 
the sale of rifles to the Chino. To-day we 


262 WINNING HIS WAY 

encounter the Moro in company with the 
three guerrillas, one of whom was carrying the 
rifle stolen from Captain Casey on the date 
proposed in the letter. Until to-day I had 
regarded our experiences as more or less dis- 
connected occurrences, but now I believe the 
ambuscade on February 6th, the uprisings in 
the city, the capture of our two rifles, the at- 
tack of the Moro on our outposts, and our 
fight to-day in the swale, are all connected 
and closely-related events. Col. Quicoy Si- 
ongco is responsible for all of them. The 
Moro is under his orders, and we will have 
them in front of us all the way up the 
line.’^ 

“ Good logic, thet ’ere, but bad news,” said 
Klondyke. I don’t like fightin’ thet ’ere 
yaller-faced mongrel, an’ I ain’t got much 
hankerin’ fur th’ Moro, nuther. Bill Smath- 
ers kin have first turn at ’im every time.” 

I tell you, boys, I am afraid of him,” said 
Douglas. He is on my mind every minute, 
and somehow I have felt from the very first 
that I would have to fight him sooner or 
later.” 

“ You whipped him once, Douglas, and you 


TO WEST POINT 263 

will do it again if you fight him/^ said Fred 
Russell. 

“ What did yer do with th’ captured rifle ? 
asked Klondyke. 

“ I turned it over to Lieutenant Milton, and 
told him of the circumstances,” answered 
Douglas. “ While looking for Lieutenant 
Milton, I ran across Corporal Casey with the 
rest of the squad, and explained my tem- 
porary absence from the line. Jackson was 
there, and heard every word of the story 
about our encounter in the swale, and I assure 
you I was sorry for him. I could see the 
front of his blue shirt quiver with each beat 
of his heart as I told of the recapture of one 
of the stolen rifles. He avoided my eyes 
and I could watch him as I announced 
the number, 67,883 — Corporal Casey’s rifle ; 
Jackson’s was still out. I shall never forget 
the look of disappointment that came over 
Jackson’s face as he heard the announce- 
ment.” 

You have explained a strange phenome- 
non, Douglas,” said Russell. 

I never knew Jackson to be so completely 
cowed as he has been to-day, but I understand 


264 WINNING HIS WAY 

now. I wonder if he isn’t afraid of being shot 
to death by his own rifle.” 

The th Infantry had won its place at 

Malinta after a valiant struggle, but the delay 
in conquering their well-posted enemy had 
thrown the right wing of the army well to 
the front and before darkness had fallen on 
the 26th of March, Polo had been captured 
and Mecauayan had been abandoned. 

As the American troops advanced upon the 
captured territory, flames shot up from the 
roofs of the nipa shacks which the fleeing In- 
surgents had fired. This wanton and useless 
destruction of property was explained by the 
following proclamation found posted on the 
walls of the railroad station at Mecauayan 
when the troops entered. 

Headquarters of the Military Operations 
Against Manila. 

I, Antonio Luna, General in Chief of 
Operations, ordain and command from this 
date forward : 

First. The following be executed by shoot- 
ing without court-martial. (Classes of persons 
here enumerated.) 

Second. All towns which may be aban- 


TO WEST POINT 


265 

doned by our forces will be burned down. No 
one deplores war more than I do : I detest it ; 
but we have an inalienable right to defend our 
soil from falling into the hands of fresh rulers 
who desire to appropriate it, slaughtering our 
men, women, and children. 

' For this reason we are in duty bound as 
Filipinos to sacrifice everything for our Inde- 
pendence, however great may be the sacrifices 
which the Fatherland requires of us. 

The General-in-Chief of operations, 

A. Luna. 

General Headquarters at Poloy 
February 15ihy 1899. 

Although Antonio Luna was the greatest 
soldier in the ranks of the Insurgent army, 
and in the main, entitled to respect as a fighter 
and as a man, this order betrays his miscon- 
ception of the American character, and of the 
military necessities of the campaign. He rec- 
ognized, however, that towns would be “ aban- 
doned ” and prepared for the contingency as 
he saw fit. 

The complete overthrowal of the first line 
of defense along the Tuliahan, had now thrown 
back the main body of Luna’s army behind 
the Marilao River, and on the 27th of March, 


266 


WINNING HIS WAY 


General MacArthur advanced almost without 
opposition upon this position. 

The natural order of march of the th 

Infantry threw it into position as reserve, and 
it was known that the regiment would not go 
into action that day. This was an appreciated 
relief from forty-eight hours of almost contin- 
uous fighting, and the regiment swung along 
in a jovial way discussing the thrilling expe- 
riences through which it had passed, and 
making conjectures as to the outcome of the 
campaign. 

As in the engagement at blockhouse No. 14, 
Company M had borne the burden of the 
fight, and counted the greatest number of cas- 
ualties in its ranks. The place of Private 
Philip Kelton was vacant in Corporal Casey’s 
squad, and similar blank files throughout the 
company attested its gallant services. 

Jackson was in his place, elbow to elbow 
with Douglas Atwell, but his campaign hat 
was pulled down over his eyes, and he spoke 
to no one. 

The regiment marched through the ruined 
streets of Polo and Mecauayan and biv- 
ouacked beyond the charred and blackened 


TO WEST POINT 267 

remnants of the railroad station at the latter 
place. 

“ There will be fighting to-morrow, and lots 
of it,’’ the head of the column reported, for 
the Insurgents are strongly entrenched behind 
the Marilao, the bridges are down, and the 
river is unfordable in the vicinity of the 
crossing.” 

Energetic preparations were in progress for 
the attack. Day and night the thud of the 
sledge hammer could be heard on the railroad 
track, where the engineers, with a large body 
of Chinese coolies, were repairing the broken 
line. So rapid had been the advance that 
part of the rolling stock had fallen into the 
hands of the Americans and the actual dam- 
ages to the railroad had been but slight. 

The signal corps had repaired the broken 
telegraph into Manila and reeled out wire as 
fast as the skirmishers could advance, and 
everything was in readiness for the assault 
on the Marilao on the morning of March 
28th. 

Douglas Atwell sat deeply engrossed in the 
study of the proposed theatre of operations 
from one of the enlarged maps which he had 


268 


WINNING HIS WAY 


constructed during the long month of inaction 
following the outbreak of hostilities, when 
Lieutenant Milton approached him. 

“ Atwell,’' said he, your maps are gaining 
you a reputation. You are to go to the front, 
by General MacArthur’s orders, and give 
Colonel Funston of the Twentieth Kansas the 
benefit of your maps and your study of the 
terrain. There is a mounted man from the 
Kansas regiment awaiting you, and you will 
ride forward with him.” 

Douglas folded his maps in a piece of oil- 
skin, and returned them to his haversack. He 
was somewhat startled by the responsibility 
which this new situation placed upon him, 
but if his superior officers found any merit in 
his work he did not feel himself called upon 
to protest against their judgment. Officers in 
the field had been partially supplied with 
maps of the theatre of operations, but these 
maps were on too small a scale to supply any 
valuable information which would guide the 
smaller units in the campaign. Realizing 
this. Lieutenant Milton had secured every 
available piece of information which the ar- 
chives of Manila could furnish, and had caused 


TO WEST POINT 269 

Douglas to develop maps showing the most 
minute features of the terrain. 

Each map, two feet square, covered about 
a day^s march and was devised to enable a 
commanding officer to record his position 
during an engagement for the benefit of future 
history. 

As Douglas galloped forward with Ramsey, 
the strapping young Kansan, scattered firing 
could be heard to the front, and regiments 
could be seen moving out of the column and 
deploying into thin lines of skirmishers. 

Douglas well knew the nature of the Marilao, 
with its high railroad crossing, its swift cur- 
rent, and deep and muddy bottom, and his 
month’s study of this kind of data had taught 
him that a hard fight would result from the 
effort to force a crossing. 

Yes, we will have a lively fight,” said 
Ramsey. “ ‘ The Tuliahan was captured,’ the 
Insurgents say, ^ but the Americans will 
perish on the banks of the Marilao, and we 
will then hurl the insolent invaders into the 
sea.’ ” 

“ They said something like that the night 
before the outbreak,” answered Douglas, “ but 


270 


WINNING HIS WAY 


we have managed to keep out of the ocean, 
and I hope to see the Marilao behind us to- 
night/’ 

“There is Colonel Funston now,” said 
Ramsey. “ He will take us across if it is pos- 
sible. I will take you over to him, and then 
I am to rejoin my company.” 

Ramsey rode up to his Colonel and reported 

his return with Private Atwell of the th 

Infantry. 

“ Well, Atwell, what can your maps tell us 
of the ground in front ? ” asked Colonel 
Funston, with such easy affability that Doug- 
las felt at once as if he had fallen into the 
company of a lifetime friend, and he unfolded 
his map without anxiety or hesitation. 

“ I am not at all sure that it is correct, sir,” 
said Douglas, “ there has been no means of 
going over the ground.” 

“ We will go over it now,” said the Colonel 
as he examined the map, “ and we will trust 
to your accuracy.” 

The song of the Mauser was already sound- 
ing in the soldiers’ ears when Colonel Funston 
put his regiment in motion for the banks of 
the Marilao. To Douglas Atwell’s dismay the 


TO WEST POINT 


271 


regiment soon found itself in a marsh, into 
which the men sank from knee to waist deep. 

“ I don^t see this on your map, Atwell,’' said 
the Colonel. 

No, sir, I had no knowledge of its exist- 
ence,’^ answered the boy blushing deeply. 

There is better ground to the left, sir,” he 
added apologetically. 

“ Let them go. They like it,” said the 
Colonel, as he watched his husky lads wading 
through the swale like young ducks. 

When the line emerged from the marsh 
they were within five hundred yards of the 
river, and the trenches across the Marilao 
poured forth a stinging challenge to the ‘‘ in- 
vaders.” Except that the Insurgents accepted 
battle only from the shelter of the trenches 
behind the Marilao, the gallant advance of the 
Kansans was in all respects similar to the ad- 
vance of the th Infantry upon the Tulia- 

han, until Colonel Funston stood on the 
banks of the stream which protected the 
enemy. 

The railroad bridge had been partially des- 
troyed, and the north bank of the stream 
bristled with the spiteful Mausers. It would 


272 


WINNING HIS WAY 


cost thousands of lives to carry that river 
against a line of American soldiers, but the 
native cannot stand the strain of a struggle 
at close range. 

In a few moments the Kansans had secured 
the superiority of fire, and the Insurgents sank 
behind their trenches, and fired by resting 
their rifles on the top of the parapet. Thus, 
as in preceding engagements, the Insurgents 
could pour a destructive stream of bullets in 
the American ranks, and suffer but slight in- 
jury in return. ^ 

Douglas Atwell walked behind Colonel 
Fanston, and feverishly longed for another 
ford such as the Tuliahan had furnished. 

How the bullets cracked and howled as 
they glanced up from the hard earth and tore 
the bamboo into shreds ; how the sun scorched 
the dripping faces of the soldiers, how sick 
and faint Douglas felt as he heard the dull 
‘‘ spat ” of a bullet as it burned a stinging 
path through the body of a man at his feet, 
and he saw the blood trickle from his lifeless 
body. 

As a soldier on the line, the friendly crack 
of his own rifle drowned out all of this, but 


TO WEST POINT 


273 

now he realized the officer's part in the 
struggle. 

How long would the strain continue ? At 
every point in front of the Kansans the Mar- 
ilao was unfordable, but on the north side of 
the river beneath the Insurgent trenches lay 
a number of cascos and bamboo rafts. Here, 
then, was a means of forcing a crossing, a 
means which had not escaped the attention of 
Colonel Funston. If so strong a fire were 
concentrated on the trenches that the Insur- 
gents could not rise to see what the Kansans 
were doing, a small number might swim 
across the stream, bring back the rafts and 
cascos, and ferry across underneath the canopy 
of fire that would pass harmlessly above them. 

In a few moments preparations to execute 
the plan were in progress. At Colonel Fun- 
ston 's request, a Colts' machine gun, under 
Lieutenant Davis of the navy, came up, and 
a little later, some artillery from the Utah 
Battery. 

Then Colonel Funston called for volunteers 
and stated the plan. From the vast number 
that responded he selected a few and then 
gave his orders. 


WINNING HIS WAY 


274 

The line poured out its fire with redoubled 
energy, while like a garden hose the Colts’ 
machine gun sprayed the top of the enemy’s 
trench at the rate of ten shots per second. 

While the guns of the Utah Battery punc- 
tuated this terrific clamor with its deep-toned 
roar, the selected men of the Kansas Regi- 
ment stripped off their clothing to swim the 
stream. 

“May I go with them, sir?” asked Doug- 
las. 

“ If you wish,” responded Colonel Funston. 

Douglas pulled off his clothing with fever- 
ish haste, reached the river bank and plunged 
in with the eager Kansans. The Insurgent 
fire had been completely overwhelmed, and 
with a few powerful strokes the swimmers 
crossed the stream in safety, and were upon 
the rafts. Tearing away the moorings, they 
seized the long bamboo poles, and shoved off 
into the stream, and Douglas Atwell found 
himself poling shoulder to shoulder on a raft 
with Corporal Drysdale, a man whom he was 
destined to know and admire on other fields 
when the experiences of the Filipino Insur- 
rection would be but a memory. 


TO WEST POINT 


275 


Not a head rose above the trenches to locate 
the swimmers, but the rifles were held high 
above the Insurgents’ heads with muzzles de- 
pressed, and a plunging Are lashed the stream 
as in a storm, yet no one was hit. 

As Douglas and Corporal Drysdale reached 
the shore. Colonel Funston and a number of 
his men leaped upon the raft, and shoved off 
toward the Insurgent trench. 

The assault would not be made until a suffi- 
cient number had crossed, and Douglas man- 
aged to dress and jump upon the last raft to 
carry the small storming party. 

Colonel Funston and his men were already 
creeping along the edge of the river, and when 
the end of the trench was reached they moved 
behind a bamboo hedge, and turned toward 
the enemy. One breathless moment followed 
as the little party awaited the cessation of fire 
from their own ranks, and then this handful 
of men uttered a mighty shout and charged 
on the Insurgent flank. 

The Tuliahan had taught its lesson. With- 
out waiting to estimate the numbers in the at- 
tacking party the terrified Insurgents fled in 
disorder. 


2/6 WINNING HIS WAY 

Other points on the stream had been pierced 
about the same time by attacks equally val- 
iant, and the whole Insurgent army was roll- 
ing back from a position they had thought 
impregnable. 

A signal victory had been won for the 
American arms ; the road to Malolos, the 
Insurgent capital, lay open ; the Marilao had 
been conquered, and though his maps had 
proved a small factor. Private Douglas Atwell 
had played a conspicuous and gallant part in 
the operations of the day.^ 


CHAPTER XVII 


CORPORAL CASEY LOSES A GALLANT SOLDIER 

The bugles were sounding in the streets of 

Malolos, and the men of the th Infantry, 

with belts filled with ammunition, were hurry- 
ing into ranks. Once more the battle line 
was to sweep over the hostile trenches, after a 
month’s rest from the hardships of the cam- 
paign, and the alert and jovial manner of the 
men indicated the relish with which they ac- 
cepted the resumption of active operations. 

Major Greene, mounted on a fine American 
horse, trotted out into the plaza. The line 
came to attention at his ringing command, 
and with arms at the right shoulder, swung 
into column of fours down the streets of Mal- 
olos which led toward Quingua. 

“ Route step ! March ! ” 

The erect, silent men broke from the ca- 
denced step to the march at will, jokes ran 
from lip to lip, and rifies were carried at the 
convenience of the soldier. 

277 


278 WINNING "HIS WAY 

I’m glad t’ git at ’em agin,” said Klon- 
dyke Jones, as he slung his rifle across his 
back and hitched his pouch more comfortably 
within his belt. “ We ain’t had no fightin’ 
fur a month, an’ th’ critters is gittin’purty sassy, 
jest like they wuz th’ week ’fore th’ rumpus 
began. Th’ wuz loud talkin’ a month back 
o’ a death struggle in th’ trenches o’ Malolos 
round th’ sacred banners o’ th’ revolution, 
but when the lines come rollin’ crost th’ rice- 
fields, them lads concluded t’ delay th’ death 
struggle fur a pleasanter day. Th’ wa’n’t 
’nouf fightin’ in ’em at Bocane, Bigar, Giu- 
ginto an’ Malolos all put t’gether to make a 
good skirmish in th’ ole days, but they say 
the’ll be trouble to-day, fur ’cordin’ t’ rumor, 
we’re t’ tackle th’ Calumpit line. Ain’t them 
’ere ’bout th’ facts, Douglas ? ” 

Yes, that is the idea, I believe,” said 
Douglas. 

“ Well, what d’yer maps say ’bout th’ 
place? ” 

“ The Insurgents ought to make a hard 
fight to-day, if they intend to stand at all. 
The maps and the information at hand show 
the river to be deep and un fordable, and the 


TO WEST POINT 


279 


enemy has had plenty of time to entrench on 
the north bank. The three important points 
in front of us are Balinag, Quingua and Cal- 
umpit, which is on the railroad where it 
crosses the Calumpit River. All of these 
towns lie on the north side of the river, which 
flows straight across our front, and Quingua, 
upon which we are now marching, is the 
central point. I think we will have a hard 
fight getting across.” 

“ Aye, what was that ? ” called out one of 
the men. 

Thet ^ere^s th^ song o’ th’ bullet,” said 
Klondyke, as he pulled his rifle back over his 
shoulder, and tightened up his gun-sling pre- 
paratory to action. “ She’s singin’ her song 
high in th’ air this mornin’ like a skylark, 
but I reckon I kin never mistake th’ tune. 
Listen ! There’s anuther. ’Tain’t no use 
dodgin’. No man thet was ever hit heard th’ 
song o’ th’ bullet thet hit ’im, thet ’ere is sartin.” 

The regiment had scarcely passed beyond 
the outposts of Malolos, but the line of In- 
surgents which constantly hung on the 
American front were already sending forth 
their challenge from the j ungle. 


28 o 


WINNING HIS WAY 


The advance guard deployed into a thin 
line of skirmishers, and each shot from the 
enemy drew a quick response from the 
“ Krags.” 

Ten thousand Insurgents under Luna lay 
behind the entrenched position in front, 
which stretched from Calumpit to Balinag 
with its centre at Quingua, and at the latter 

point the men of the th Infantry were 

to force a passage, strike the Insurgent 
trenches in flank, and thus make it possible 
for General Wheaton to force his way across 
the railroad bridge at Calumpit. 

A month had been spent in Malolos, the 
flrst capital of the Revolutionary Govern- 
ment, and the men were now eager for battle. 
During the period of inaction which followed 
the fall of Malolos, the Insurgents had crept 
around General MacArthur’s flank, and made 
a concerted attack on the railroad line of 
communications. 

It was loudly proclaimed that the garrisons 
in Manila would be driven into the bay be- 
fore the bayonets captured from the dead 
bodies of American soldiers from Malolos to 
Caloocan. 


TO WEST POINT 


281 


At every point, however, the attack had 
failed, but the scattered bands of guerrillas, 
disguised as citizens, still hung on General 
MacArthur^s flank, to fraternize with the 
strong, and ambush the weak escorts that 
passed between adjacent stations. 

These detached groups of guerrillas must 
be brushed away before General MacArthur 
could weaken his line by a further attenua- 
tion, and while the men of the th In- 

fantry were plunging through the jungle 
toward Quingua, General Lawton was sweep- 
ing north with a column from Manila, and 
already the guerrillas were rolling back before 
his rifles at Navaliches and Norzagaray. 

When Generals Wheaton and Hale had 
broken through the defenses of Calumpit and 
Quingua, General Lawton would fling him- 
self upon the Insurgent flank at Balinag, 
while the advance of gunboats up the Cal- 
umpit River would complete one of the most 
far-reaching victories which the American 
arms had yet scored. 

In the execution of this general plan, our 

friends of the th Infantry were destined 

to play a gallant and conspicuous part, and 


282 


WINNING HIS WAY 


now as General Hale’s Brigade pressed on 
through the underbrush, the regiment felt out 
gradually to the right toward the banks of 

the Quingua. The th Infantry held the 

extreme right of the line, and in the dense 
jungles along the approaches of the river, the 
regiment soon lost contact with the rest of the 
brigade. 

Little resistance was encountered until the 
line found itself on the banks of the river, 
facing a long line of entrenchments on the 
north side. Here again was the problem of 
the Tuliahan, of the Marilao, except that no 
bridge of any kind lay within reach of the 
regiment. Again the same desperate fight for 
a few moments, the same scorching sun beat- 
ing mercilessly upon heads and backs, the 
same regrettable list of killed and wounded, 
and the final overwhelming of the enemy’s 
fire by the American soldiers’ superiority in 
aim and courage. 

Company M held the extreme right of the 
line, and as soon as the enemy had been forced 
to ‘‘ keep down ” by the hail of bullets. Lieu- 
tenant Milton stooped over his red-headed 
Corporal, his valiant support in the hour of need. 


TO WEST POINT 


283 

“ Corporal/' said he, bring out your 
squad, and come with me. .We are going to 
make a crossing." 

In a moment Corporal Casey had his squad 
disengaged and stood waiting for orders. 

“ Send two men back to that little shack on 
the trail and have them bring up the rope 
which was lying alongside the shack." 

“ Jones an' McFadden fur th' rope. Be 
quick," commanded Corporal Casey, as they 
dashed off to obey. It was needless to call 
the attention of these two old veterans to de- 
tails. They had seen the shack and the rope, 
and Corporal Casey knew they would over- 
take him as he urged along the rest of the 
squad behind the nimble little Lieutenant 
who was following a carabao trail toward the 
river bank. 

Philip Kelton was still absent from the 
squad — in the hospital at Manila recovering 
from the wounds received at the hands of the 
Moro in the nipa swale in front of Malinta. 
Jackson was in line, haggard and trembling, 
nervously wetting his parched lips with his 
tongue, as he furtively glanced from side to 
side, but Corporal Casey was behind him, and 


284 WINNING HIS WAY 

this red, freckled face bore no expression of 
sympathy as he trampled upon the heels of 
this heart-sick private, and growled his eternal 
command — “ Kape closed ! Kape closed up ! 

Dragging the long rope behind them, Klon- 
dyke Jones and Skaguay McFadden reached 
the river bank almost as soon as their com- 
rades, and now began the perilous effort to 
cross. 

No friendly raft or casco lay moored to the 
opposite bank, and the stream was clearly un- 
fordable — but it must be crossed. 

Not a word was spoken, but while part of 
the squad knelt with loaded rifles and 
watched the trench, the rope was made fast to 
the base of a bamboo-tree, and then with one 
sweep of his powerful arms, the Queer Fel- 
low ” flung the rest of the squad aside, and 
dived into the river with the free end of the 
rope. 

When he rose to the surface he was in 
midstream, the frayed end of the rope between 
his teeth and his rifle in his left hand. Doug- 
las had hoped for a share in the work, but he 
felt himself a mere boy in the presence of 
these old Trojans of the plains. 


TO WEST POINT 285 

Bearing his total equipment of nearly thirty 
pounds, and hauling a fifty-foot rope, the 
“ Queer Fellow ploughed through the water 
like an ocean liner, and with the audacity of 
his kind, he clambered up the Insurgent 
trench to within two feet of the muzzles of 
blazing rifles. For a moment Douglas Atwell 
held his breath. 

Was the Queer Fellow going to leap 
alone into that trench and attempt to hang 
the occupants ? 

No, th’ ‘ Queer Feller ^ niver did nothin^, 
no matter how queer, t’ spile th’ plans o’ an 
officer,” whispered Klondyke, as Bill dexter- 
ously drew up the slack of his rope, and made 
fast by the knot that never slips to a bamboo 
stake that formed part of the trench itself. 

The feat of the Marilao had been surpassed, 
and Bill Smathers slipped his bayonet on his 
rifle, and crouched over the end of his cable 
to settle accounts with any inquiring head 
that might rise above the Insurgent trench. 

The squad stood ready to cross. 

Jackson first,” said Corporal Casey, as he 
handed the young collegian the end of the 
rope, and pressed him forward into the stream. 


286 


WINNING HIS WAY 


They kin all cross aisy ^nouf/^ said the 
Corporal with an air of confidence as he saw 
Jackson reach the other shore. 

“ Send them all over, Corporal, while I get 
another detachment from the company to come 
to your support,” said Lieutenant Milton as 
he hurried back toward the line. “ DonT at- 
tack until I am with you.” 

As the Insurgents were persistently sticking 
to the bottom of their trenches and only oc- 
casionally showing a head, the fire from the 
American line gradually slackened until only 
an occasional shot rang out along the front of 
M company. 

Believing that the attack was drawing off, 
a group of Insurgents rose and discovered the 
rope ferry, just as Lieutenant Milton arrived 
on the opposite bank with reinforcements. 

It was the danger which Corporal Casey 
dreaded, and for which the only possible 
course was attack at all hazards. 

With a wild shout. Corporal Casey sprang 
over the parapet, thrusting Jackson before 
him, and the little squad of seven men was 
face to face with one hundred and fifty In- 
surgents in a hand to hand encounter. 


TO WEST POINT 287 

Before the terrible execution of the maga- 
zines and bayonets of the Krags, the panic- 
stricken Insurgents were recoiling in inex- 
tricable coirfusion, when out from their midst 
came a glistening black figure armed with a 
shield and kampilan, and with screams that 
echoed far up the Quingua, he commanded the 
herd to stand and fight. 

It was the Moro, Inac the juramentado, and 
his wild call rallied the mob — rallied them, 
save for Col. Quicoy Siongco and most of his 
cowardly guerrillas, to whom the Moro 
screamed in vain. 

Like a wild jungle beast, the Moro crouched 
over his glittering kampilan and led the 
charge of one hundred natives against this 
little group of seven. 

The few seconds' delay had given time to re- 
load, and as the mob came on, awkwardly 
huddled together, they fell like ninepins be- 
fore the American rifles. 

Twice Douglas Atwell fired at the Moro and 
twice he missed, and as the last shot failed, he 
sprang forward to meet his enemy, and his 
bayonet crossed the Moro’s kampilan. 

Fred Russell’s words flashed across his 


288 


WINNING HIS WAY 


mind — “ Attack ! attack ! Don’t give him 
time to assume the aggressive,” and with the 
energy of despair he lunged at his opponent. 
Again and again he drove his bayonet at the 
black, glistening chest, but the Moro danced 
out of danger, and each effort drew Douglas 
farther into the struggling circle. 

At any moment he might feel the keen edge 
of a bolo upon his head, but he could not 
stop, and redoubled his efforts to reach his an- 
tagonist. Fred Russell sank before his eyes, 
and half consciously he perceived that he had 
stepped over the body of Skaguay McFad- 
den. 

Only five were left to fight this terrible bat- 
tle, and now Douglas saw a guerrilla with 
eyes upon him, raising a rifle to take aim. 

Instinctively he hesitated, and half turned 
his head. It was the distraction for which 
the Moro had waited, and instantly he as- 
sumed the aggressive. 

A rapid side step forced Douglas to turn 
his back upon the rifleman, and with lips 
drawn back and teeth set, the Moro prepared 
for his spring. It was a moment of supreme 
anxiety, in which Douglas seemed to live an 


TO WEST POINT 289 

age each second. He could hear the shots 
ringing in his ears, the shouts of the rein- 
forcements as they splashed in the water be- 
low the trench, and he saw the Morons toes 
dig into the earth as he sprang forward and 
swung his kampilan. 

Up shot Douglas AtwelPs rifle, the motion 
Babong had taught him, and the kampilan 
was shattered into fragments on the rifle bar- 
rel, just as Lieutenant Milton appeared upon 
the trench. 

Come on, men ! Come on ! he shouted 
as he saw the desperate situation below him, 
and drawing his revolver, he sprang into the 
trench at Douglas AtwelPs side. 

A rush of panting, dripping men followed 
him, and in a few seconds of terrific fighting 
the Insurgents were swept from the field in 
great disorder. 

In spite of all Douglas AtwelPs efforts, the 
Moro escaped, and the exhausted boy sank 
upon the ground, in anger and disappoint- 
ment, while a few feet away he saw Bill 
Smathers rolling upon the ground with his 
hands clenched upon the throat of a strug- 
gling native. 


290 


WINNING HIS WAY 


From the gallant fellow’s chest, the blood 
gushed in great spurts, for Bill Smathers was 
mortally wounded. 

The company rushed on in pursuit of the 
Insurgents, and Douglas Atwell, with tears in 
his eyes, knelt over his fallen comrade, for he 
realized the situation at a glance. 

The native whose throat was in the terrible 
grip of the Queer Fellow’s” hands was he 
w^ho was raising his rifle when the Moro forced 
Douglas to turn his back upon the impending 
death. 

Having vanquished all before him, the 
Queer Fellow ” had turned to see the 
threatening barrel leveled at the boy’s back 
while the Moro was making ready for his 
leap. With one spring, the “ Queer Fellow ” 
was upon the rifleman, but the weapon was 
turned upon him as he came, and the native 
fired and rolled headlong beneath his rush. 
The bullet intended for Douglas had pierced 
Bill Smathers through and through, but he 
held his executioner a prisoner in his dying 
grasp. 

Douglas knelt beside him and released his 
Angers from the throat of the half conscious 




TO WEST POINT 


291 

Insurgent, and Klondyke Jones, untouched 
by bolo or bullet, hastened to his side. 

“ You saved my life. Bill,’' said Douglas as 
he brushed back the wet, shaggy hair from 
the ‘‘ Queer Fellow’s ” forehead, and struggled 
to restrain his tears. 

The ‘‘ Queer Fellow ” took Douglas’ hand 
in his and pressed it between his rough palms, 
and then against his face. 

“ I’m glad I did,” he said slowly. “ Ye 
see, I kinder loved ye, lad, like ye wuz a 
gal. I never see any one so gentle like a gal, 
an’ so gritty like a man. I gin ye my life, 
but ye ’member th’ day down on th’ road t’ 
Manila, when we wuz ambushed, ye saved me 
from th’ guerrilla varmint thet wuz a-tryin’ t’ 
shoot me in th’ back. I tol’ ye then, little 
pard, thet if ever ye wuz in a tight pinch ye 
cud depend on Bill Smathers t’ stand by ye 
t’ th’ last ditch, an’ Bill Smathers keeps his 
word.” 

The steel blue eyes slowly closed and the 
pallor of approaching death settled over the 
face of one of the bravest men that ever 
marched in the ranks. 

“ Good-bye, Klondyke, good-bye, little 


292 


WINNING HIS WAY 


pard/' he said feebly, an’ say good-bye to 
any o’ th’ boys thet wants a partin’ word from 
Bill Smathers. I’m glad — I’m goin’ this ’ere 
road. It’s th’ proper way fur a good sojer.” 

Douglas laid the brawny arms across Bill 
Smathers’ chest as the company returned from 
the pursuit of the enemy. The Queer Fel- 
low ” was dead, and on every hand were heard 
expressions of deepest regret, as the company 
assembled to take note of its losses. 

In the early stages of the fight, Jackson 
was slightly wounded in the left hand, and 
escaped from the trench, leaving his comrades 
alone to meet the Moro’s charge ; and now he 
returned to the blood-stained field with his 
hand swathed in a large first-aid ” bandage. 

The native whom the Queer Fellow ” had 
choked into a stupor, was slowly regaining 
consciousness, and rolled over on his back, re- 
vealing the rifle with which he had dealt Bill 
Smathers his mortal wound. 

^ “Thet ’ere’s a Krag- Jorgensen,” exclaimed 
iftondyke Jones, as he snapped up the rifle 
and glanced at the number. 

A hush fell on the company as Klondyke 
raised his flashing eyes to Jackson’s face. 


TO WEST POINT 


293 


Thet ^ere is yourn, Jackson,” he shouted, as 
he rapped the number on the breech with his 
clenched fist. ‘‘ There’s yer number,” he 
said in a low tone as he thrust the rifle in 
Jackson’s face. Ye’ve killed Bill Smathers 
jest as much as th’ critter thet shot ’im.” 

Jackson made a great efibrt to meet the gaze 
of those piercing eyes, but his head sank upon 
his chest, and he fell forward in a dead faint. 

Lieutenant Milton and Douglas Atwell were 
the only two spectators who completely under- 
stood the meaning of this incident, for Fred 
Russell was lying on the field where he had 
fallen, and Corporal Casey was binding up his 
wounded shoulder. 

Klondyke had spoken in a low tone so that 
few had heard, and all enquiry as to the mean- 
ing of this strange proceeding, was made im- 
possible by a bugle call from the direction of 
battalion headquarters, commanding the lines 
to move forward. 

The rest of the regiment had forced a pas- 
sage at a foot-bridge, and elsewhere along the 
line, and all was ready for a sweeping advance 
along the north bank of the Quingua. 

“ Corporal Casey,” said Lieutenant Milton, 


294 


WINNING HIS WAY 


“ all that is left of your squad will take charge 
of the dead and wounded. Bring up the Chi- 
nese litter-bearers and follow the line far 
enough back to be out of danger. 

Very well, sir,^’ said the Corporal, as he 
stood erect and respectfully saluted, though 
the blood was pouring from a seam which a 
bullet had cut across his cheek, and his arms 
and legs bore numerous bolo wounds. 

As the company once more advanced in line 
of skirmishers behind its intrepid little com- 
mander, Corporal Casey, Douglas and Klon- 
dyke, followed with a detachment of Chinese 
litter-bearers carrying the wounded — Skaguay 
McFadden, Fred Russell, and Leland C. Jack- 
son, while a fourth litter bore the dead body of 
Bill Smathers. 

Jackson lay silent and stupefied upon his 
litter, and his comrades avoided him with a 
feeling approaching aversion. 

The sounds of intermittent skirmishing 
came from the front, but Corporal Casey’s 
squad was out of action and trudged along in 
the rear of the line. The defenses of the Cal- 
umpit had been pierced through the valiant 
services of Company M, and the Insurgent 


TO WEST POINT 


295 

flank at Balinag now lay at the mercy of 
General Lawton. 

When the troops bivouacked that night on 
the banks of the Quingua, General Hale felt 
confident of a sweeping victory along the Cal- 
umpit. 

“ We cannot reach the railroad to-night/' 
said Lieutenant Milton, as Corporal Casey re- 
joined the company, ‘‘ so we will have to bury 
our dead upon the river bank. Turn over all 
the wounded, including Jackson, to the hos- 
pital, and then take charge of the funeral es- 
cort, and make up a squad to fire the salute." 

So as the sun was sinking upon the vic- 
torious brigade, Douglas Atwell, Klondyke 
Jones and Babong, the Igorrote, dug a grave 
in a beautiful cocoanut grove on the banks of 
the river, and lined it with banana leaves. 

Corporal Casey marched out a squad and 
halted it beside the grave, and Lieutenant 
Milton and his company stood with bared heads 
while Douglas and Klondyke gently laid the 
body of Bill Smathers on its last bed. Then 
they covered the dead soldier with long, slen- 
der leaves, and stepped back among their silent 
comrades. 


296 WINNING HIS WAY 

Corporal Casey^s voice was husky and trem- 
ulous as he gave the command. 

“ Squad ready ! Aim ! Fire ! ” 

Three times the rifles roared out across the 
grave their flnal salute to the army’s dead, 
and as the echoes of the last volley died 
away, Musician Macklin raised his bugle to 
his lips, and blew out “ taps ” — a long, quaver- 
ing farewell that trembled far up the reaches 
of the Quingua to the spot where Bill 
Smathers heroically gave up his life. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


CAMPAIGNING IN THE RAINY SEASON 

Boys/’ said Douglas Atwell, ‘‘ we are 
going back to the trenches at Pasay. 
Lieutenant Milton has given the order to the 
First Sergeant, and we are to take the train in 
the morning.” 

Good,” shouted several of the men, “ but 
why are we going to Pasay ? ” 

To relieve a regiment of volunteers which 
is to return to the States.” 

'' Well, thet ’ere ain’t bad news,” said 
Klondyke Jones. “The rainy season is on, 
an’ inside o’ a month we will all be climbin’ 
trees t’ git our heads above th’ water, an’ 
I’d jest as soon roost in the branches at 
Pasay as here.” 

Notwithstanding Klondyke’s view of the 
case, the situation was full of embarrassment 
for the government. The period of enlistment 
of the state volunteers had expired, and it was 
297 


298 WINNING HIS WAY 

now necessary to return them to their homes 
for muster out, though every available soldier 
was needed to man the lines. 

Congress had authorized the enlistment of 
new volunteers to take the place of the State 
troops, but as yet none of the new organiza- 
tions had arrived. 

It was necessary to comply with the order, 
however ; General MacArthur’s troops were 
“ stretched to cover the territory made 
vacant by the withdrawal, and in a few days, 

the th Infantry was marching out along 

the road to Pasay to occupy the trenches 
which they themselves had partially erected 
after the capture of blockhouse No. 14, 
and the earthworks beyond. 

The effect of two preliminary storms which 
had already dropped from the clouds, 
suggested what the conditions would be after 
a month of continuous rain. 

In the assignment to positions in the line, 
it fell to the lot of M Company to occupy 
the trenches which extended straight across 
the open rice-fields with the right near Pasay 
and the left extending toward San Pedro 
Macati. It was the natural order of things 


TO WEST POINT 


299 

that the rice-fields should be flooded at this 
season, and so the company found them. 

Three inches of mud and water lay over the 
whole surface of the camping site, while 
heavy clouds were gathering in the sky as 
the company slid and stumbled through the 
mud toward its assigned position. 

A sick and weary regiment of volunteers 
joyfully relinquished command of the trenches 
and turned toward Manila to prepare for 
“ home.’^ 

Three months^ exposure to the hardships 
of the campaign had thinned their ranks, but 
their hearts were light as they thought 
of the friends who awaited them on their 
native soil. 

The th Infantry, too, showed thin ranks, 

and on every face was a yellow pallor laced 
with deep, hard lines, indicating wasted 
energies, and rapid decline. The climatic 
conditions were approaching their worst, and 
the health and spirits of the men were declin- 
ing accordingly. 

Our young friend had not escaped the 
effects of his hard and faithful service, for the 
fine color of his boyish face had gone, and 


300 


WINNING HIS WAY 


with it twenty pounds of precious flesh, but 
his fortunes as a soldier had prospered. 

As Douglas stood in the trenches on the 
last day's service on the north line, Lieu- 
tenant Milton handed him a large official 
looking document with the words : — 

“Atwell, there is your commission as a 
Corporal. You have won it handsomely, and 
in spite of your youth I feel confident that 
you will justify my selection." 

And now, as the th Infantry returned 

to the trenches it had left three months be- 
fore, Corporal Douglas Atwell marched in the 
ranks with his new chevrons on his sleeve for 
the first time. 

Klondyke Jones once more declined the 
honor. “ I’ll serve my life out as a private,’’ 
said the “ole sojer,’’ “jest as Bill Smathers 
done, an’ when I go t’ jine Bill, I hope it ’ll be 
’long the same road.’’ 

And without the slightest appearance of re- 
sentment or superiority, this gallant old vet- 
eran of twenty years’ service took his place as 
a private in Corporal Atwell’s squad. 

Every man in the company approved the 
“ make,’’ and the future now seemed to hold 


TO WEST POINT 


301 

for our young friend, a bright prospect of 
honorable distinction. 

Jackson was still absent in the hospital at 
Corregidor Island, where he had been since 
the tragic death of Bill Smathers on the 
banks of the Quingua by a bullet from Jack- 
son’s rifle in the hands of a guerrilla. Upon 
his return from the hospital he would have to 
submit to the command of Corporal Douglas 
Atwell, who had succeeded to the place left 
vacant by the promotion of Corporal Casey to 
a sergeantcy. 

But he will not soon return, Douglas,” 
said Fred Russell, as they arranged their 
equipments in the little rookery which was 
to serve them as a home ” along the flooded 
trench in the rice-fields. I have been lying on 
a cot beside him at the hospital until to-day, and 
I can assure you ‘ Leel ’ is not going to leave 
that happy home for this mud bird’s nest, not 
if Leel can manage it. He has had a hard 
time of it. His wounded hand was well in a 
few days, as the bullet only touched him, but 
he developed a case of hysteria which was 
promptly followed by an indisposition which 
the surgeons have failed to diagnose. I am 


302 


WINNING HIS WAY 


told he is trying to get a discharge by favor 
of the Secretary of War, and hopes to 
leave the hospital for a transport bound for 
Trisco.” 

“ I have often wondered why he came into 
the army at all,’’ said Douglas. 

The first drops of rain were falling in the 
muddy water in front of the “ rookery,” and 
Douglas and Russell crawled inside. Such 
was the disposition along the line that each 
little bamboo rack must accommodate two sol- 
diers, and Douglas had chosen to bunk with 
Fred Russell. 

“ Let us get inside our happy home,” said 
Russell, as he scraped the mud from his shoes 
and crawled beneath the nipa roof, “ and I 
will then tell you why ‘ Leel ’ is in the 
army. You see we came in with a rush,” he 
continued as he fiung a poncho over his head, 
and settled back on his haversack. 

“ The troops were swarming into ’Frisco, 
and nothing was talked about but the expedi- 
tion to the Philippines. Admiral Dewey had 
won a great victory and we were all exulting 
in the hero’s glory, eager for a share in the 
honors yet to be won, and the hottest foot, the 


TO WEST POINT 


303 

most restless war-dog in the whole college was 
our good friend, Leel. 

“ We all got together one day and talked it 
over, and then and there bolted for a recruit- 
ing office and ‘ took on/ The th In- 

fantry, a gallant old regular regiment with 
a fine reputation, was about to sail, and the 
majority of us secured assignment to it, and 
cast our lot with Company M. 

The night before we enlisted, Leel was in 
high spirits, and told me that it was only nec- 
essary for him to win a little glory, and that 
the congressman of his district would be 
forced to give him the next appointment 
to the Military Academy at West Point. 

^‘So LeeTs in the army to win a cadetship 
at West Point. He certainly has distin- 
guished himself, but how far that distinction 
will carry him toward West Point, still re- 
mains to be seen.^^ 

Do you think he still wants it ? asked 
Douglas. 

I imagine he has seen the other side of 
the hero card by this time, and merely wants 
to be discharged from further performance 
in that role,’’ answered Russell. “ Leel is ex- 


WINNING HIS WAY 


304 

ceedingly fond of the display which he fool- 
ishly imagined was the principal part of the 
military life, but he hates the responsibilities, 
the exactions, the drudgery which the profes- 
sion demands. Incapable of leading, equally 
unwilling to follow, Jackson is the last man 
in the world to send to the Military Academy 
to be converted into an officer of the United 
States Army.^' 

The rain was coming down now in torrents, 
and the thunder shook the earth. Water was 
dripping through the house,” which con- 
sisted of portions of a demolished shack which 
the volunteers had used for patching up a 
shelter when the first big storm nearly floated 
away the tents. 

A section of floor consisting of bamboo slats 
was lying on two horizontals about three feet 
above the ground, and two pieces of nipa roof- 
ing rested slantingly on a ridge-pole which in 
turn rested on top of the trench, and was sup- 
ported at the front end by a crotched up- 
right. 

Through the ragged union of the pieces of 
nipa roof the water poured in streams, while 
the soft mud from the parapet rolled down on 


TO WEST POINT 


305 

the bamboo floor and dripped through to the 
stream below. 

It was six o’clock, and beneath an aban- 
doned shack, a quarter of a mile down the 
line, Reddy Fagin and Babong were strug- 
gling to cook a supper with water-soaked fuel. 

Douglas and Russell wrapped themselves in 
their rubber ponchos and rolled in as far as 
possible underneath the slanting roofs to es- 
cape the water that fell in the centre. 

I don’t think I want any supper to-night,” 
said Russell as he peered out into the blind- 
ing storm. “ Hello ! Who’s that ? ” 

A soldier wrapped in rubber poncho and 
armed with rifle and belt was slushing along 
through the rising flood. Just as he arrived 
in front of the house,” he stepped on the top 
of a rice dyke, slipped, and fell upon his back 
in the mud and water. 

Consarn thet ’ere,” said he as he sat up 
and tried to rise. “ I didn’t ’list, by ginger, 
as a sailor, an’ ’tain’t no fair t’ send me t’ 
sea.” 

''Stop a trolley, Klondyke, and go down 
like a landsman,” shouted Russell. 

"Hello, lad,” said the "ole sojer”as he 


3o6 winning his WAY 

crawled to his feet and held out a muddy^ 
dripping hand. “ Glad t’ see ye back. I 
knowed ye’d be out jest as soon as yer wound 
would let ye. Ye ain’t a half bad sojer fur a 
college lad.” 

“ Thanks, Klondyke, thanks ; but what in 
the world brings you out a night like this ? ” 

‘‘ Goin’ on outpost.” 

Outpost ! What use is there for an out- 
post a night like this ? ” 

Thet ’ere ain’t the way you’d feel ’bout it 
to-morrer mornin’ if one o’ them critters got 
in an’ chopped yer head off durin’ th’ night. 
Better hold fast t’ yer moorin’s, fur this ’ere’s a 
reg’lar typhoon thet’s a-howlin’ up the seas, 
an’ she’s a-goin’ t’ slat things in a little bit. 
Peg yerself down.” 

The wind had already risen and was racing 
through the house with an ominous whistle, 
and driving the drenching rain in upon the 
two young men. Klondyke had not gone 
fifty yards when the wind struck the shacks 
and lifted the two pieces of roofing as if they 
were straws. 

Eager to shield his wounded comrade from 
the rain, Douglas jumped to his feet to pursue 


TO WEST POINT 


307 


his flying roof, and the light bamboo floor, no 
longer held down by his weight, up-tilted and 
dropped Fred Russell in a foot of water. 

“ Stop an ocean liner, an’ pull fur th’ har- 
bor, Freddie,” shouted Klondyke ; “ they say 
the’s a storm brewin’.” 

The ole sojer ” was standing nearly knee- 
deep in water, holding his drenched hat on his 
head, while his poncho stood out in the gale 
like a flag from a masthead. 

Other houses ” down the line had been 
wrecked also, and the homeless ones were 
pursuing their goods and chattels as they 
drifted down-stream. Company M was hun- 
gry, wet, and practically without shelter in 
this raging storm, but they had seen hard- 
ships before, and were not dismayed. 

Douglas and Russell set to work at once to 
reconstruct their house. It had grown very 
dark, but the constant flashes of lightning 
helped them to see their way as they lashed 
down the floor, and tied the remaining por- 
tions of the roof in place with gun slings and 
canteen straps. Then the drenched lads 
crawled back beneath their miserable shelter. 

They pulled off their leggins and poured 


3o8 winning his WAY 

the mud from their shoes, and hung them 
with their muddy socks on bamboo stakes to 
be “ automatically ” cleansed by rain. 

They laid out one of their blankets on the 
floor, while they wrapped themselves in the 
other, covered themselves as best they could 
with the two ponchos, and laid their heads 
upon the wet haversacks. Their campaign 
hats partially protected their faces from the 
rain which poured through the roof, and if 
the water did not rise to the level of the floor, 
the chances for a few hours’ sleep were favora- 
ble. 

Within an hour, their mutual warmth had 
banished the chills, Russell’s teeth ceased 
chattering, and the storm seemed subsiding, for 
the thunder rolled farther to the north, where 
the typhoon was now tossing the fragile Fili- 
pino barks against the rocky coasts of Luzon. 

If the Lord will but temper the winds to 
the shorn lamb,” said Russell, “ I think I will 
survive till morning.” 

The sun rose next morning in a cloudless 
sky, and before eight o’clock the heat was 
unbearable. 

Sergeant Haller and Reddy Fagin had 


TO WEST POINT 


309 

moved their cooking equipment into one of 
the shacks, and now handed down breakfast 
from a hole in the nipa wall to the hungry 
company as it filed past, barefooted, in six 
inches of water. Shoes had disappeared, 
trousers were rolled to the knees, and most of 
the clothing and equipment was spread out 
on the roofs of the houses, or hung on bam- 
boo poles to dry. 

Eight blistering days followed during which 
the rice-fields nearly dried, and on the 9th 

of June, the th Infantry marched to San 

Pedro Macati, where the gallant old Thirteenth 
had already assembled to participate in the 
movement of General Lawton’s column 
against a force of some 3,000 Insurgents which 
had pressed up close to the south lines, and 
nightly harassed the trenches. 

The object of the maneuvre was to envelop 
the Insurgents’ flank, press them back against 
the sea, and force them to a decisive engage- 
ment. 

With this object in view, the column moved 
out toward Guadaloupe Ridge at four o’clock 
on the memorable morning of June 10th. At 
eight o’clock the head of the column went 


WINNING HIS WAY 


310 

into action, and at nine, the Thirteenth and the 

th Infantry were moving down in a thin 

line of skirmishers on the enemy’s trenches, 
when one of General Lawton’s staff officers 
galloped up to Major Greene and said : — 

“ Major, the General directs you to halt 
your regiment, and move it by the left flank. 
You are to gain a position on the Insurgent 
flank, and close them in on the sea. The 
General hopes you will make a supreme effort 
to accomplish this result.” 

‘‘ Very well, sir,” said the Major, and as the 

officer galloped away, the th Infantry 

faced to the left, and began its effort to out- 
march the fleet-footed Insurgents. 

This sudden change in the direction of at- 
tack threw M Company at the head of the 
column, with Douglas Atwell’s squad in the 
lead, and the young Corporal of one week’s 
experience now found himself the most re- 
sponsible soldier in General Lawton’s com- 
mand. 

“ Go ahead. Corporal,” said Lieutenant Mil- 
ton, “ two regiments are behind you. Every- 
thing depends on getting past the Insurgent 
flank. Set the fastest pace you can stand. 


TO WEST POINT 


311 

If we succeed we will win a great victory, and 
the regiment will cover itself with glory.” 

‘‘ I will do my best, sir,” said Douglas as he 
turned into a trail across the Guadaloupe, 
and mentally resolved to realize the hopes of 
his superiors if the feat was possible to flesh 
and blood. 

The course lay through the giant grass that 
towered high above the soldiers’ heads and 
cut off every breath of air like an enveloping 
blanket. Water was soon exhausted to 
quench the burning thirst of the men, and 
canteens could be refllled only from the half 
dry carabao holes rank with the odor of de- 
caying vegetation, for the storm of the preced- 
ing week had fallen but sparingly along the 
Guadaloupe Ridge. The heat had risen to 
blistering intensity, and already the men 
showed signs of great distress. 

In vain Sergeant Casey shouted his com- 
mand, “ Kape closed up, kape pace wid At- 
well,” but the fagged muscles could not re- 
spond, and three men lay fainting on the trail. 

Can you stand it, Russell ? ” asked Doug- 
las, as he glanced over his shoulder at the 
agonized face behind him. 


312 


WINNING HIS WAY 


“ I’ll make the effort of my life,” said Rus- 
sell as he drained the last drop of water in his 
canteen, and tore open his shirt to relieve the 
throbbing of his chest. 

For one hour of supreme torture Russell 
clung tenaciously to the trail, and then he fell 
in convulsions, and Douglas and Klondyke 
seized him by the arms as he thrashed in the 
underbrush in terrible agony. 

“ Keep up the march ! Keep up the 
march ! ” came the ringing command from 
the rear of the company, where Lieutenant 
Milton was inspiring the men to their great- 
est effort. 

Fall out. Smith,” said Douglas as he 
quickly resumed his place in ranks, “ and 
take charge of Russell. Bring him on to 
camp if you can ; if not, help him to the 
hospital,” and once more the Corporal led 
the regiment on through the suffocating trail, 
dotted all the way to the rear with the bodies 
of prostrated men. 

Again and again he felt his head reel, and 
the earth seemed heaving beneath him, but he 
doggedly stuck to his task. 

By three o’clock sixty per cent, of the 


TO WEST POINT 


313 

command had been prostrated, and all were 
dizzy, haggard, and staggering. Company M 
was represented by Lieutenant Milton and 
twenty men, while Douglas and Klondyke 
were the only members of the squad still 
upon their feet. 

It was clear, however, that the column had 
encircled the Insurgent flank, and so with 
nerves keyed up for the struggle, the rem- 
nant of the gallant regiment staggered on 
toward the town on the seacoast whose 
church spires were now visible through the 
openings in the bamboo jungle. 

The enemy had retired upon that point, 
and yet not a shot was fired as the skirm- 
ish line advanced. Instead, the populace 
received the regiment with every sign of 
the submission of a peace-loving com- 
munity. 

Every house flies a white flag,” said 
Klondyke Jones ; every critter is an ^ amigo ' 
(friend). Them ’ere three thousand Insur- 
gents has gone like smoke. We’re licked, 
boys. They’ve hid their rifles an’ uni- 
forms, an’ now they’re lollin’ in the winders 
smokin’ cigarettes as we cum in. I thought 


3H 


WINNING HIS WAY 


Injuns was treacherous, but them ’ere critters 
has a corner on th’ business thet shuts out 
all competition.” 

In utter dejection and discouragement the 
exhausted men flung themselves upon the 
bamboo tiendas (fruit stands) which lined the 
streets, while protected by the white clothing 
they had assumed, the Insurgents keenly 
enjoyed the spectacle. 

The orders of the Insurgent chieftain had 
gone forth. The Insurgents were no longer 
to attempt an organized warfare as a uniformed 
army, but were to lay aside the marks of their 
calling when necessary, and under the guise 
of non-combatant civilians, they were to place 
themselves under the protection of the 
American soldiers, or to flght them, as might 
prove expedient. 

In small groups, the men straggled into 
town all the afternoon, and at eight o’clock 
Fred Russell and nearly all the rest of the 
company had passed through the outpost 
where Corporal Douglas Atwell was in com- 
mand of the guard. 

Clouds had been gathering all the after- 
noon, and rain was falling heavily when dark- 


TO WEST POINT 


315 

ness closed down upon the town with its 
dense Insurgent population. 

“ Corporal,” said Klondyke Jones as he 
took his post as a member of Douglas 
Atwell’s guard, “ I don’t like the looks o’ 
things.” 

What’s the matter, Klondyke ? ” 

“Well, I’ve seen Injuns preparin’ fur 
treachery, an’ I know th’ signs. This ’ere 
town is full o’ Insurgent critters to-night, an’ 
we can’t stand on ceremony ’bout shootin’. I 
ain’t runnin’ this guard, but them thet wants 
to have a whole skin in th’ mornin’, better lay 
awake t’ watch it to-night.” 

Fully appreciating the significance of the 
“ ole sojer’s ” remarks, Douglas went back to 
the little tienda which served as a protection 
for his men when not on duty, ordered 
magazines filled, and stepped out into the 
rain, fifty paces in the rear of Klondyke, to 
watch for indications of danger. 

He placed himself astride a rice paddy 
with his guard in front, and Klondyke on his 
left, while on his right was the street leading 
down to the shacks where Company M had 
gone into quarters. 


3i6 winning his WAY 

All was quiet, and in the brilliant flashes of 
lightning which followed each other in rapid 
succession, he could see each object with 
perfect clearness. 

An hour had passed since Klondyke went 
on post, and Douglas was beginning to believe 
that his anxiety was groundless, when 
suddenly he became conscious of the near 
presence of some one. He strained his eyes 
in the darkness, but he could see nothing but 
black specks surrounded with red circles 
which had been floating before his eyes ever 
since the harrowing march across the 
Guadaloupe Ridge. 

Eagerly he waited for the next flash of 
light, and when it came he saw a naked 
Filipino, armed with a bolo, crouching near 
his feet. 

With one terrific blow of his rifle, Douglas 
knocked the man unconscious, and then 
stood still, and presently he saw that the 
street was swarming with natives. 

In a moment he was by Klondyke’s side, and 
together they quietly awakened and formed 
the guard, and crept forward to within fifty 
paces of the shacks where the men lay, and 


TO WEST POINT 


317 

where two hundred armed natives were pre- 
paring to shoot and stab them as they slept. 

Get your magazines ready,” whispered 
Douglas, “ and open fire at the next fiash of 
lightning. Charge when your rifles are 
empty, and line up in front of the quarters, 
facing out.” 

Breathlessly the men waited, and as the 
lightning revealed a horde of natives surging 
forward toward their quarters, seven rifles 
poured a rapid fire into their ranks, and then 
with a shout. Corporal Douglas Atwell charged 
down the street with his guard. 

Don’t fire,” he called, as the startled men 
jumped up from their sleep, and thrust their 
rifles through the windows, the trouble is 
over.” 

Twenty natives lay in the street beside the 
body of the sentinel whom they had mur- 
dered, while from the adjacent shacks came 
the moans of the wounded, but the street was 
cleared, the plot to assassinate the sleeping 
men had been frustrated. 

Corporal,” said Lieutenant Milton, as he 
heard the details of the alFair, '' your watch- 
fulness and devotion to duty have saved the 


31 8 WINNING HIS WAY 

company to-night. But for you, there would 
have been few alive to tell the tale.” 

‘‘ I kin guess in one try who’ll git th’ next 
sergeantcy in M Company,” said Klondyke 
Jones, as he laid his hand on Douglas Atwell’s 
shoulder, and walked back to his post in the 
drenching rain. 


CHAPTER XIX 


THROUGH THE INSURGENT LINES TO SAN FABIAN 

Mail had arrived from the States, mail for 
the first time in a month, and the nipa bar- 
racks in Manila, where the th Infantry was 

quartered, was a scene of activity and excite- 
ment. 

The regiment had just marched in after a 
short but brilliant expedition in Cavite, and 
now it was under orders to prepare for the 
final great campaign against Aguinaldo. 

The comparatively cool days of October had 
come, the rainy season was but a memory, and 
something of the old time spirit pervaded the 
ranks. 

Douglas Atwell and his comrades were 
hauling sacks of mail from the adjutant’s 
office, and dumping their contents on the 
floor, while Fred Russell sorted and distrib- 
uted the welcome letters. 

“ Stick that candle on the end of a bayonet, 
319 


320 


WINNING HIS WAY 


Klondyke,” said Douglas, “and help us sort 
the papers.’’ 

“ All right, Sergeant Atwell,” said the “ ole 
sojer,” for such was now the rank of our young 
friend. 

The hardships of the rainy season had in- 
capacitated many and had produced numer- 
ous changes in the non-commissioned person- 
nel, and Douglas Atwell now found himself 
the junior sergeant of the company, while the 
fate of the squad rested in the hands of 
Corporal Fred Russell, a mere shadow of the 
old-time lad on the college baseball team, but 
yet full of the hardy, jovial spirit which con- 
quers. 

Douglas had received his commission as 
sergeant only a few days before, when Lieu- 
tenant Milton handed him the precious docu- 
ment with the words : — “ That is in recogni- 
tion of your services on the night of the 10th 
of June, when you saved the company from a 
great disaster. You are probably the young- 
est man who ever held the rank in this com- 
pany, but I know you will sustain the dignity 
of your office.” 

Corporal Fred Russell felt more pride in his 


TO WEST POINT 


321 


new chevrons than in his diploma from the 
university, and talked enthusiastically of his 
squad/’ 

Philip Kelton was back in his old place, a 
deep scar from chin to ear bearing mute wit- 
ness to the Moro’s prowess, and Skaguay Mc- 
Fadden was once more beside the ole sojer.” 

A recruit, a blundering, awkward, young 
Norwegian, had been assigned to the place 
left vacant by the peerless Bill Smathers. 

“ And Jackson is the only absentee from 
my squad,” said Corporal Russell, as he and 
Douglas stood together after reading their 
mail. “ I hear that his efforts to secure a dis- 
charge by favor of the Secretary of War have 
failed, and that he is to be returned to duty.” 

Ho-ho, what is this ’ere ? ” chuckled Klon- 
dyke, as he slapped his knee and held up a 
San Francisco paper to the light of a candle. 

‘‘ What is it, Klondyke ? ” asked Douglas. 

Jackson, by gum, as a sojer o’ th’ Re- 
public,” answered Klondyke. “He ain’t with 
yer squad, Russell, but here he is in the 
’Frisco paper — a full length picture o’ ^ Fightin’ 
Leel Jackson,’ with a column o’ eloquence 
’bout his valiant services at the battle o’ 


322 


WINNING HIS WAY 


Quingua, where, says the paper, ^ he justified 
th’ confidence an’ esteem o’ his many friends 
by stickin’ t’ th’ fight agin terrible odds even 
after he had suffered a painful wound.’ ” 

The company roared with laughter as Klon- 
dyke read aloud the long narrative of Jack- 
son’s virtues, interpolating the story with his 
own humorous remarks, and grunting over 
the hard words. 

While Klondyke was still struggling bravely 
with “ them ’ere consarned skyrocketty 
words,” the company clerk entered, and said to 
Douglas, “ Sergeant Atwell, Lieutenant Mil- 
ton wants to see you, right away, at his 
quarters.” 

Douglas started, for Jackson was in his 
thoughts. 

“ Th’ sick man o’ Corregidor,” however, had 
not inspired a new calamity, but yet a very 
unpleasant message awaited Douglas neverthe- 
less. 

“ Sergeant,” said Lieutenant Milton, “ I have 
received an order placing you on detached 
service, and you are to report for duty to- 
morrow morning at nine o’clock at General 
Lawton’s headquarters in Manila.” 


TO WEST POINT 


323 

And not go out with the regiment, sir ? 
asked Douglas in alarm. 

“ I am afraid not,” said Lieutenant Milton. 
“ I have no official information, but I know 
there has been a vigorous search for compe- 
tent clerks, and I suppose they have observed 
your excellent penmanship on the company 
muster rolls, and propose to use you, or they 
may want you for topographical work.” 

Is there no hope of getting out with the 
company, sir ? ” said Douglas anxiously. 

There is nothing to do but to obey the 
order,” said Lieutenant Milton. “ I regret to 
lose you, but there is no alternative.” 

Douglas had been long enough in the serv- 
ice to recognize the impropriety of further 
remark, and saluting, he returned to barracks, 
where the men heard, with genuine regret, 
that he must part with the company to be- 
come a clerk. 

Promptly at nine o’clock the next morn- 
ing, however, Douglas entered General Law- 
ton’s headquarters, and by one of those for- 
tunate blunders which sometimes make a 
career, he walked into General Lawton’s office 
instead of that of his assistant. 


3^4 


WINNING HIS WAY 


The General turned an enquiring glance to- 
ward the youthful Sergeant as he entered. 

“ Sergeant Douglas Atwell, Company M, 

th Infantry, reports to General Lawton 

for duty, sir,’’ said Douglas as he saluted. 

“ What duty ? ” asked the General. 

“ I don’t know, sir.” 

The General smiled slightly. Well, 
what can you do? What is your specialty? ” 

“ I have made some maps, sir,” confessed 
Douglas regretfully, as visions of stuffy rooms, 
and endless piles of drawing material passed 
before his mind’s eye. 

“ Maps,” said the General with a show of 
interest, “ what kind of maps? ” 

Douglas explained the work he had done 
under Lieutenant Milton’s supervision. 

“ Have you any of those maps with you ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” said Douglas, as he drew from 
his blouse pocket a number of copies, and as 
luck would have it, the first map that met the 
General’s eye, covered the section about 
Cabanatuan on the Rio Grande de Pampanga. 

Have you maps covering the country to 
the north as far as San Fabian ? ” 

Yes, sir.” 


TO WEST POINT 


325 

Douglas waited breathlessly as the General 
examined one of the maps. 

“You are the man/’ said the General, 
“ who made that sketch of the Insurgent 
trenches from a tree-top in front of Caloocan. 
Well, they wanted you, no doubt, as a 
clerk here at headquarters, but you will come 
with me. My troops will need the informa- 
tion furnished by your maps, and you can be 
of great assistance. Climb into the am- 
bulance in the street below, and tell the 
driver you are to go with me to San Fer- 
nando. The train leaves in a few min- 
utes.” 

Thus it happened that Sergeant Douglas 
Atwell escaped the monotonous duties of a 
bureau clerk, and came under the personal 
notice of that gallant General whose deeds had 
won the admiration of the whole American 
army. 

As the train rolled out that morning for 
San Fernando with General Lawton on board, 
a youthful Sergeant on the train joyously 
watched the iron-roofed houses fade in the 
distance. He had lost his company, but he 
was to take the field with troops whose duty 


326 WINNING HIS WAY 

it would be to close the avenues of escape to 
Aguinaldo, and Sergeant Atwell thrilled with 
delight at the prospect. 

He was conscious of the very unusual char- 
acter of his present position — that of a soldier 
detailed to assist his superiors with maps 
which he himself had constructed. In this 
work, he had been, however, only the assist- 
ant of Lieutenant Milton, who had foreseen 
the needs of the campaign, and had con- 
structed from all existing Spanish maps, and 
every other available source of information, 
the best' and largest outline of the proposed 
theatre of operations which could be found in 
Manila. 

In Douglas he found a natural topograph- 
ical expert, who, not content to merely com- 
plete his official task, had also made copies of 
these maps for his own information and guid- 
ance. It was the possession of these private 
copies which now saved him from the obscu- 
rity of a clerkship at headquarters, and sent 
him to the centre of activity of the American 
army. 

Pursuant to the orders of his new chief, 
Douglas reported that very night at Arayat to 


TO WEST POINT 


327 

Lieutenant Batson, who commanded the 
Macabebe scouts. 

“ We march at midnight in the direction of 
San Isidro,’^ said Lieutenant Batson, as he ex- 
amined the map which Sergeant Atwell 
handed him. “ You'd better get some sleep 
and be ready to go with us. Your maps will 
help us very much indeed." 

But Douglas could not sleep, for the new 
field in which he suddenly found himself was 
full of thrilling interest. 

The great advance to the north was at last 
on foot, and he was to participate. General 
Young was in command of the cavalry 
with their powerful American horses, look- 
ing giant-like beside the native ponies of Lu- 
zon, and a force new to Douglas was in the 
field — the Macabebe scouts. 

These little chaps have shown what they 
can do in the swamps around Malolos," said a 
cavalry Sergeant who was assigned to the 
command, as he and Douglas sat together and 
whiled away the hours to midnight. You 
know," continued the cavalryman, there is 
an enmity between the Tagalos and the Maca- 
bebes, which grows hotter as time runs on. 


WINNING HIS WAY 


328 

As soon as the American columns had ad- 
vanced to the Macabebe country, the little 
chaps came out like game cocks for the 
American cause, and asked to be armed and 
lead against the Tagalos, and here they are.’^ 

That night as Sergeant Douglas Atwell rode 
along through the impenetrable darkness, be- 
side his new commanding officer, he soon 
realized the wisdom of the decision to send 
the Macabebes against their old-time enemy. 
With a tread that scarcely broke the silence 
of the night the dark column was stealthily 
picking its way toward the Tagalo outposts. 

From his headquarters at Tarlac, Aguinaldo 
had already recognized the inevitable, and 
was preparing to retire gracefully behind the 
following order : — 

In view of the fact that Tarlac does not 
possess the hygienic and geographic conditions 
befitting it for the numerous population of 
the capital of the Republic of the Philippines, 
the honorable president of the Republic, and 
his council of government, has been pleased 
to order that the capital of the Republic be 
moved provisionally to Bayoubong, the 
capital of Nueva Vizcaya.” 


TO WEST POINT 


329 


The end was at hand. 

General MacArthur lay at San Fernando 
waiting the signal to advance ; General 
Lawton was already dashing past the Insur- 
gent flank and closing the lower passes which 
might serve as avenues of escape ; while other 
troops under General Wheaton, and among 
them Douglases regiment, were boarding 
transports at Manila to proceed by sea to the 
Gulf of Lingayen, fall upon the Insurgent 
rear near San Fabian, and complete the net 
about the Insurgent army, by a rapid ad- 
vance to meet the troops of General Law- 
ton. 

All parts of the command moved simul- 
taneously on the 5th of November. 

From Mexico, through San Fernando to 
Cabanatuan, the rifles roared from dawn till 
evening. No separate combat differed ma- 
terially from any other, but darkness fell 
upon miles and miles of ruined Insurgent 
trenches, and the fields were dotted with the 
unattended dead. 

Sergeant Douglas Atwell had spent the day 
with the Third Cavalry, and as a trooper in its 
ranks, he had swept across the fields in a 


330 


WINNING HIS WAY 


furious charge, his heart leaping to the 
thunder of the hoof heats. 

And now he lay upon his back near the 
picket line and watched the moon drifting 
across the sky toward the Yellow Sea where 

a transport bearing the th Infantry was 

breasting the waves toward the Gulf of 
Lingayen. 

Poor Atwell,’’ said Klondyke Jones, as he 
and Fred Russell leaned upon the rail and 
gazed out toward the black mountain heads 
which rose precipitously from the coast line, 
thet ’ere ’s a shame t’ tether a fine little 
sojer like him t’ a desk in Manila right in 
th’ heart o’ th’ campaign. I’ll bet his heart 
is breakin’ t’ be with th’ boys. Th’ ’ll be some 
fine fightin’ too,” continued Klondyke. In 
less than twenty-four hours we’ll drop down 
on th’ Insurgents’ rear, an’ if Aguinaldo ain’t 
a’ ready on th’ jump fur high timber, he’ll 
have ole Klondyke Jones & Co. t’ fight in 
gittin’ thar.” 

But the wary Aguinaldo was already on the 
retreat and all Luzon was awake and anxious. 

Down in the valleys which led north from 
Tarlac, a bull-train laden with $76,000 in 


TO WEST POINT 


331 


Mexican coin, the treasure of the Insurgent 
Government, was ploughing along the roads 
under the lash of frightened drivers, while 
the Insurgent army was falling back on 
Bamban in great disorder. But, forcing their 
way across the river, a small detachment of 
American troops fell upon the exposed flank 
of the Insurgent line, which rolled up and 
crushed like so much glass before a battering- 
ram, and the retreat became a panic. 

Down they flung the Bamban bridge and 
over the broken trestle they drove the trains, 
vainly hoping, if but for a little time, to arrest 
the harrowing advance. But scarcely had the 
trains ceased to crash in the river, when the 
advance guard of General MacArthur’s 
column was clambering over the wreck- 
age. 

General Lawton^s headquarters, far up on 
the Insurgent flank, was in a ferment of 
excitement when the news of these victories 
flashed along the wires from Manila. 

Seated at a little table in a shack which had 
been converted into a telegraph office. Ser- 
geant Douglas Atwell was working rapidly on 
a number of copies of maps for the organi- 


332 WINNING HIS WAY 

zations which would march at the first break 
of dawn. 

The operator bent over his key, with an 
expression of growing interest. 

“ Good,” he exclaimed as the instrument 

ceased to tick. The th Infantry and the 

Thirty-third Volunteers have landed in the 
gulf of Lingayen. The Insurgents have been 
thrashed at San Jacinto, and General Whea- 
ton’s troops are on the hills to meet us. We’ll 
get Aguinaldo sure,” and the excited operator 
dashed off with the message to General 
Lawton. 

A mighty cheer rose from the shacks where 
the men lay when the news reached them, 
and the belief that Aguinaldo would be 
captured was expressed on every hand. 

Excitement rose to fever heat. One great 
effort more and every pass for escape of the 
fugitive chieftain would be closed. 

For eight days Sergeant Douglas Atwell 
had been in the saddle, now with the cavalry, 
now the Macabebes, or Major Ballance’s in- 
comparable infantry, everywhere giving the in- 
valuable assistance of his maps, and revelling 
in the glories of this whirlwind campaign. 


TO WEST POINT 


333 


And now on the morning of the 13th of 
November he was hurrying forward with a 
troop of the Third Cavalry, at the very head of 
the column, while Captain Dodds was sweep- 
ing on in pursuit of Aguinaldo’s booty train. 

“ Never have American troops conquered 
greater difficulties,^’ said General Young as he 
swung from his saddle that night, “ never 
have they behaved more creditably. If our 
advanced troop can form a connecting link 
with General Wheaton to-night, our chances 
for capturing Aguinaldo are excellent.” 

Even as the General spoke, the leading 
troop, with Sergeant Douglas Atwell among 
them, was riding into Binalonan, where a 
deputation from the town welcomed the 
troops with music and rejoicing. 

Has Aguinaldo escaped ? ” was the troop 
commander’s first eager question. 

No,” said the natives, “ but the road is still 
open, for General Wheaton’s troops have not 
advanced to Binalonan.” 

Let me see your map. Sergeant Atwell,” 
said the Captain, and then after a few mo- 
ments’ study, he called the First Sergeant of 
the troop. Select twelve of the best men and 


334 


WINNING HIS WAY 


horses, Sergeant,^’ said he, “ and have them 
ready to mount without delay. Sergeant At- 
well will ride with the detachment,” con- 
tinued the Captain, “ and they will feel out 
for General Wheaton’s troops and ride till they 
find them.” 

Once more the saddles were fiung on the 
backs of the sore and tired mounts, cinches 
were made tight, and Sergeant Douglas At- 
well with twelve stained and sunburned troop- 
ers, trotted down the streets of Binalonan, fol- 
lowed by the cheers of their comrades, and 
rode out into the heart of the enemy’s 
country. 

All available information led to the belief 
that Aguinaldo was still within, and as the 
little band rode forward toward the only gap 
that still lay open, they believed it possible to 
encounter the Insurgent Chieftain with all 
the troops he could muster, making a desper- 
ate effort to escape, and nerves were tingling 
with excitement. 

No indications of the enemy’s presence were 
observed and the little detachment rode on 
and on. 

Darkness was rapidly falling about them as 


TO WEST POINT 


335 


they passed through Manaoag, but no friendly 
American outpost awaited their approach. 
They were now beyond the help of comrades 
from Binalonan, and in the heart of a country 
peopled by 50,000 semi-hostile natives, while 
at any moment, they thought, they might 
find themselves in the midst of Aguinaldo’s 
retreating column. 

Magazines were loaded and each trooper 
rode in silence, with his hand on the butt of 
his carbine. 

In complete darkness they stole through 
San Jacinto where the natives came stealthily 
to the windows and watched them pass, and 
here the road branched. 

“ Which way to Dagupan, Atwell ? said 
the Sergeant in command. 

The road to the left,’' replied Douglas. 

The Sergeant faced his men. 

“ We’re not strong enough to stand and 
fight,” said he in a low tone. If we are at- 
tacked in force we’ve got to retreat, but each 
man must remember that it’s his business 
to get through if possible and reach General 
Wheaton.” 

Then the Sergeant led the way along the 


336 WINNING HIS WAY 

dark road toward Dagupan. A half hour 
later he drew off into a rice-field and ordered 
his men to dismount. 

“ According to our information/’ said he, 
“ General Wheaton must be in Dagupan, but 
if he is not, it would be fatal to ride in there 
in the darkness. How does the land lie in 
front, Atwell ? ” 

The roads branched at San Jacinto, as you 
saw,” said Douglas. This road runs to Ma- 
galdan about three miles, and then goes on to 
Dagupan, about seven miles. The other 
branch runs to San Fabian. It doesn’t seem 
possible to me that General Wheaton’s men 
are at Dagupan,” continued Douglas, “ for that 
would leave all the roads open for the escape 
of the Insurgents. In spite of the reports, I 
believe he is at San Fabian.” 

The men were sitting on rice paddies hold- 
ing the reins of their drooping horses, when a 
crashing volley sounded from the roadside 
which they had left, and the bullets tore 
through the trees about them. 

“ Smash through them,” shouted the Ser- 
geant, as the troopers leaped into their saddles 
and drove their spurs into their horses’ flanks. 


TO WEST POINT 


337 


Away through the bamboo the detachment 
thundered, seeking every available opening, 
and in a moment the men had become sepa- 
rated and Douglas found himself with two 
troopers riding breathlessly for a place on the 
road. 

Suddenly his horse mired, and the three 
horses and riders rolled headlong in the 
swamp. The exhausted animals floundered 
and snorted in the mud, and when they were 
finally extricated, the firing had ceased, and 
the sounds of the running horses could be 
heard no more. 

It was impossible to know whether the rest 
of the detachment had escaped or had been 
captured, but the business of the moment was 
to get away, and very promptly. 

“ What are we going to do. Sergeant At- 
well ? asked one of the men. 

“ Make for San Fabian,’’ replied Douglas, 
as he drew his horse up on firmer ground, and 
forced his way through the bamboo. 

A bamboo fence crossed their path, but the 
horses were trained to jump and all safely 
cleared it, and landed in the road. 

For five minutes they sped along it, and 


338 WINNING HIS WAY 

then Douglas saw that his calculations had 
been correct. The road led into the principal 
highway from San Jacinto to San Fabian. 

But were the American troops at San 
Fabian? If not, the capture of the three 
riders was practically certain. 

“ We’re safe from that pack behind, any- 
way,” said Douglas as he tightened his reins, 
“ and it would be good policy to go slow now. 
We’re not sure what’s in front.” 

The open rice-fields were visible on either 
side, and all was bathed in the soft, silvery 
light of the moon. The scattered houses 
along the road were abandoned except by the 
hungry dogs that howled about them like a 
pack of coyotes. 

No sign of life was visible as Douglas rode 
in front of his two anxious companions into 
the outskirts of San Fabian, but a voice that 
made them jump in their saddles roared out 
from the shadows : — 

“Halt! Who’s thar?” 

“ Friends,” said Douglas. 

“ Dismount 1 Advance one t’ be reco’- 
nized.” 

The three swung from their saddles, and 


TO WEST POINT 


339 

handing his reins to one of his comrades, 
Douglas moved forward. 

The sentinel stepped cautiously toward 
him, peering over the point of his glittering 
bayonet which he kept pointed straight at 
Douglas AtwelTs chest. 

Hello, Klondyke. How are you ? ’’ said 
Douglas, as he burst out laughing. 

Atwell, by gum,^’ roared the ole sojer 
as he joyfully grasped Douglas by the hand. 

Ain’t I glad t’ see ye, lad,” chuckled Kloii- 
dyke, but how on airth did ye git here ? 
I thought ye wuz a-clerkin’ it.” 

Maps, Klondyke, maps,” said Douglas 
laughing. “ General Lawton sent me up the 
line and here I am. We’ve broken through 
from the south, and it is dollars to doughnuts 
that Aguinaldo’s inside the net.” 

'‘Is that Douglas Atwell?” said Corporal 
Russell, as he jumped to his feet and rushed 
out to meet him. 

The members of the guard were now awake 
and crowding about in great delight at the 
gallant boy’s return and the news he brought. 
They anxiously plied him with questions 
as to the fight on the road, and commended 


340 WINNING HIS WAY 

his courage for the plucky ride he had 
made. 

Only one soldier at the outpost lay upon his 
bamboo rack and took no part in the friendly 
greeting. 

Who is it ? ’’ asked Douglas as he glanced 
at the silent form rolled up in a blanket. 

‘‘ Jackson/^ said Klondyke. “ Him and 
Reiter come up t’-day on a transport carryin^ 
convalescents.” 

There was a momentary silence and Doug- 
las drew a long breath. 

Can you take care of the two men who 
are with me, Russell?” he asked finally. 

We certainly can, and will give them 
something to eat into the bargain.” 

All right,” said Douglas. “ I’ll go in and 
report to General Wheaton.^’ 


CHAPTER XX 


VICENTE PRADO ‘‘SURRENDERS^’ AT DAGUPAN 

Aguinaldo had escaped. 

Despite the gallant ride of Douglas Atwell 
and his comrades, information of General 
Lawton’s advance from the south came too 
late, for the wily Insurgent had already 
slipped through a mountain pass during the 
night, and General Young was now pursuing 
him with dogged but fruitless persistence. 

The Insurgents which the little detachment 
encountered while searching for General 
Wheaton proved to be merely a broken frag- 
ment of the Insurgent army which was mak- 
ing its way to a place of safety. All the mem- 
bers of the detachment escaped uninjured, for 
the Sergeant and his nine men crushed 
through the Insurgent line and rejoined the 
American column at Pozorrubio, where he re- 
ported the “ loss of Sergeant Douglas Atwell 
and two privates, killed or captured.” 

All organized resistance had now disap- 
341 


WINNING HIS WAY 


342 

peared. In five brief days, the Insurgent 
power had been crushed. In two weeks the 
columns had reunited, and a distribution of 
troops to hold the conquered territory had 
begun. 

The natives have petitioned the presence of 
American troops in Dagupan,” said General 
Wheaton, as he discussed the situation with 
the commanding officer of the th Infan- 

try, “ and I have concluded to grant their re- 
quest. Please designate one of your battalions 
for this duty, and send it out in the morn- 
ing.’’ 

“ I will send the Third Battalion, ” said the 
regimental commander, and pursuant to this 
arrangement, the column set out early the 
next morning for its new station. 

The command had been considerably 
strengthened by the return of convalescents 
from the hospitals, and among these were 
Jackson and Reiter, who now marched in 
their old places in M Company. 

Reiter’s unexpected return was greeted on 
all sides with expressions of congratulation 
and esteem, while Jackson was ignored even 
by those formerly most neav to him. 


TO WEST POINT 


343 


It will be remembered that Reiter was one 
of the college boys who fell in the desperate 
charge on blockhouse No. 14, and after he had 
been carried to the hospital, grave reports as 
to his condition came back to his comrades on 
the line, and for a time his death was momen- 
tarily expected. 

When he began to recover,” said Fred 
Russell, as he and Douglas swung along the 
road together, “ he persistently refused to be 
sent home, and asked only the privilege of 
serving out the campaign with his comrades 
in arms. He is a fine, courageous, whole- 
souled lad who certainly would have won dis- 
tinction had he not been shot down in the 
very first engagement.” 

While searching for the wounded on that 
memorable day, Douglas Atwell and Klon- 
dyke Jones had found Reiter upon the field, 
had dressed his wound, and a few moments 
later, Douglas had stumbled upon Jackson 
hiding behind a clump of bamboo. And by 
thus revealing Jackson’s cowardice, he had 
awakened an enmity which each day grew 
more bitter and dangerous. 

Now, thoroughly frightened and shocked at 


344 


WINNING HIS WAY 


the results of his intrigues, Jackson was now 
more than willing to abandon a struggle which 
had so nearly cost him his life, and all might 
have gone well had it not been for one of 
those unfortunate incidents which turn the 
currents of life awry, and wreck the best 
made resolutions. 

It came about in the most unexpected man* 
ner. The company had gone into quarters at 
the native college building in Dagupan, and 
the men were gathered in front of quarters in 
the evening, merrily exchanging their jokes, 
and discussing the campaign which had been 
terminated, when Reiter coughed violently 
and raised his hand to his chest, 

Do you still suffer from the wound in 
your chest ? asked Douglas. 

“ Yes,’^ said Reiter, one of my lungs was 
punctured, and I have been barking ever 
since.” 

“ Chist ! ” said Sergeant Casey, wuz ye 
wounded in th’ chist, Reiter? ” 

I was,” said Reiter. 

Sergeant Casey stood up and faced the 
young man, and his freckled face assumed an 
expression of intense earnestness. 


TO WEST POINT 


345 

“ An’ ye wuz not hit through th’ hips ? ” he 
demanded. 

'‘No, the chest was good enough. Why? 
What is the point ? ” 

Sergeant Casey ignored the question, but 
struggled with restrained emotion. 

“ And didn’t yer frind, Jackson, rush t’ ye 
on th’ field, an’ stay wid ye, an’ kape ye 
from Weedin’ t’ death ? ” 

“ No. I didn’t even see Jackson on the 
field,” said Reiter. 

“ An’ who wuz th’ first person t’ rache ye, an’ 
tind t’ yer wounds ? ” said Sergeant Casey as 
his voice rose in excitement. 

“ Good old Klondyke Jones, and Sergeant 
Atwell here. No one else touched me till the 
hospital corps men picked me up.” 

“ Jackson,” cried the Sergeant, “ why did 
ye tell me ye wuz tindin’ Reiter whin I axed 
ye t’ explain yer absince from me squad th’ 
day we fought ferninst blockhouse No. 
14 ?” 

“ What ! ” exclaimed Jackson in well 
assumed astonishment. 

“ Ye heard me. Give an answer,” com- 
manded the Sergeant. 


346 WINNING HIS WAY 

‘‘ I told you nothing of the sort/^ said 
Jackson sneeringly. 

“ Be th’ powers ! ’’ cried the Sergeant with 
rising anger, “ d’ye mane t’ tell me ye never 
said it ? ” 

“ I do. Don’t make an exhibition of your- 
self, Sergeant. You’ve had a little too much 
bino.” 

“ Atwell, ye were there — yerself an’ Klon- 
dyke Jones, — drinkin’ coffee beside Reddy 
Fagin’s car-rt. Did ye hear what Jackson 
said ? ” 

Douglas hesitated, but fairness demanded 
that the Sergeant should not be denied and 
humiliated to protect Jackson, no matter 
what might be the consequences. 

“ I heard — I couldn’t help hearing,” said 
Douglas. 

An’ did Jackson say he had been tindin’ 
Reiter, an’ fur that raison had absinted him- 
self from me squad ? ” 

He did,” said Douglas. 

‘‘ You sneaked and listened, you miserable 
country lout ! ” screamed Jackson as he rushed 
upon Douglas and struck him squarely in the 
face. 


TO WEST POINT 


347 


Douglas responded with all the strength of 
his country-bred muscles of steel, and it is 
certain that Jackson would have received a 
terrible thrashing had it not been for the fact 
that at this precise moment Lieutenant Milton 
passed through the gate of the iron enclosure, 
and stepped between the two infuriated boys. 

“ What is the matter? ” he demanded. 

Sergeant Casey at once responded and 
explained the situation in brief but forcible 
terms, while the whole group corroborated his 
statements. 

‘‘Go to your quarters in arrest, Jackson,” ' 
said the Lieutenant, after he had satisfied 
himself as to the soldier’s conduct, and had 
drawn from Klondyke Jones and Douglas 
Atwell, a statement as to the occurrences on 
the field on the 5th of February, when they 
were sent to search for wounded. 

Thus the affair between Douglas and 
Jackson behind the bamboo-trees in front of 
blockhouse No. 14 was made public before the 
entire company, and loud spoken expressions 
of contempt for Jackson were heard on every 
side. 

Heretofore his conduct on that day had 


348 WINNING HIS WAY 

merely excited suspicion, but now Jackson 
was flatly accused of cowardice and falsehood, 
and the indignant company hoped to see him 
punished before a military court. 

Lieutenant Milton, however, knew the 
futility of bringing him before a general 
court-martial on a charge of cowardice, as a 
defense of heat prostration could not be 
readily overthrown, for one case of actual and 
serious heat prostration had occurred during 
the engagement. It was necessary, therefore, 
to leave that charge to be tried in the court of 
company opinion, and to punish Jackson for 
the offense of striking a non-commissioned 
officer without just cause or provocation. 

The case was tried before a summary court, 
consisting of a single commissioned officer, 
and the next night at parade. Private Leland 

C. Jackson, Company M, th Infantry, was 

sentenced “ to forfeit one month’s pay to the 
United States, and to be conflned at hard 
labor, under charge of the post-guard, for a 
period of ten days.” 

Immediately after parade he was escorted to 
the guard-house by Sergeant Casey, and for 
ten never-to-be-forgotten days he was marched 


TO WEST POINT 


349 


about Dagupan to the humiliating duties of 
a prisoner, under charge of an armed sentinel, 
and as if to intensify the bitterness of this 
cup of misery, on the last day of his incarcera- 
tion it happened that Sergeant Douglas Atwell 
and Corporal Fred Russell were the non-com- 
missioned officers of the guard. 

During these ten terrible days, Jackson had 
resolved again and again to desert, steal 
aboard some ship in the harbor, and escape to 
the United States or elsewhere, but there was 
the danger of capture and punishment as a 
deserter, without the consolation of revenge, 
and Jackson finally resolved to remain. 

On the morning of the tenth day he was re- 
leased from confinement, and as he passed 
battalion headquarters, Sergeant Douglas At- 
well mounted the steps of the same building 
with the new Sergeant of the guard, to report 
with his guard-book to the Adjutant and 
Provost Marshal. 

Jackson glanced up at the window as he 
passed and saw a native standing before the 
commanding officer, and the next moment his 
heart stood still, for sitting in this native’s 
carromato in the side street was Col. 


350 


WINNING HIS WAY 


Quicoy Siongco. The chino was dressed in 
white, and nervously awaited the return of 
his comrade, who stood talking to the com- 
manding officer at battalion headquarters. 

As Sergeant Atwell stood in front of the 
Provost Marshal’s desk, his eyes rested upon 
the native visitor, and he noted every line 
and feature of his vicious, malevolent face. 

This native was Vicente Prado, a general in 
the Insurgent army, and ex-Insurgent Gov- 
ernor of the Province of Pangasinan of which 
Dagupan was the capital. 

Moreover, he was a “ Jefe Principal,” or 
chief, of the Katipunan Society, an organiza- 
tion whose powers for evil had been but 
vaguely realized by the officers of the Ameri- 
can army. 

This society was alleged to have its head- 
quarters at Hongkong, with branch offices 
in Paris and Madrid, a working base of opera- 
tions in Manila, and active sub-stations in 
every little hamlet in the Philippines. 

In each town the society was organized into 
a community at the head of which was the 
Jefe Principal,” or chief. Each member 
was styled a Son of the Pueblo (town),” and 


TO WEST POINT 


351 

the symbol of the society was branded on his 
flesh with red-hot irons. 

With a knife held at his throat, and a 
loaded pistol held at his mouth, the initiate 
swore to blindly receive, transmit and obey 
all orders from the chiefs of the Katipunan 
Society, to denounce all persons thought by 
him to be inimical to the interests of the so- 
ciety, irrespective of race, sex, or relationship. 

The execution of the death penalty for ten 
loosely deflned offenses was placed in the 
hands of the “ Jefe Principal or chief, and 
among the most powerful of the chiefs of the 
Katipunan Society was Vicente Prado, who 
now stood before the commanding officer at 
Dagupan. 

I have come to surrender myself to my 
comandante,'’ said Prado, bowing profoundly, 
and speaking in excellent Spanish. 

Please be seated, Sefior Prado,” said the 
commanding officer, with easy courtesy. “ I 
am delighted to receive your surrender, and 
I trust that you will influence others in fol- 
lowing the same course.” 

“ It will give me the most profound 
pleasure,” said Prado with unctuous sweet- 


352 


WINNING HIS WAY 


ness. I am a peace-loving man, and my 
poor heart aches with pain at the spectacle of 
this cruel strife. I weep, my comandante, 
and yearn for the day when my poor country- 
men will be at peace beneath your flag. I 
have held no military rank, Senor,” continued 
Prado. I have been only civil governor of 
the Province of Pangasinan, but now my 
resolution is taken to lay my submission at 
your feet, and I beg to know, my comandante, 
what ‘ terms ^ the generous American Govern- 
ment will ofier an humble repentant, such as I.’' 

“ Terms ? said the commanding officer. 
“ Why, we hold absolutely nothing against 
you. ‘ You are as free as the freest citizen of 
my country. Have no fear of arrest, or 
confinement. We do not wish to punish ; we 
wish only the peace and prosperity of this 
country. Go among the Insurgents and use 
your influence to terminate the war, and not 
only will my government not punish those 
who surrender, but it will pay for every rifle 
turned in.” 

If I could but go before my people with 
some ‘ terms,’ some generous offer,” said 
Prado, hesitatingly. 


TO WEST POINT 


353 


I can only say that the American Govern- 
ment practically absolves all political offenders, 
and punishes crime wherever it is found, and 
then the commanding officer insinuated that 
however much the American Government 
might desire peace in the Philippines, it was 
not purchasing that blessing on a cash basis. 

Sergeant Douglas Atwell watched the 
Katipunan chieftain as he sat upon the edge 
of a chair, and eagerly bent forward as if 
anxious to catch every precious word of 
pardon and conciliation that fell from the 
commanding officer’s lips. His bristling 
mustaches stood out above a long line of 
yellow teeth, and his eyebrows ran spasmod- 
ically up and down as he servilely crooned 
acquiescence in all that the commanding 
officer said, and then Prado rose. 

I am profoundly impressed with what 
you have said, my comandante. I am over- 
whelmed with admiration and love for the 
exalted sentiments which you so kindly 
express to one so humble as I, and I pledge 
myself without hesitation to the service of the 
great American Government.” 

And then the branded chieftain of the 


354 WINNING HIS WAY 

Katipunan Society slowly bowed himself from 
the room. 

The Provost Marshal, who had suspended 
his work to listen to this interesting 
“ repentant,^’ now finished his task, and 
Sergeant Douglas Atwell returned to barracks. 

Jackson was there, lying on his bunk, his 
eyes fixed upon the ceiling, and a peculiar 
expression of gratification played over his 
handsome features. 

That night Vincente Prado and Col. 
Quicoy Siongco held a meeting at the house of 
a trusted member of the town council, and it 
was decided to reorganize the shattered 
fragments of the Insurgent forces, for the 
American Government must be taught the 
market value of peace in the old domain of 
Vicente Prado, where, for nearly two years, 
murder had been the unpunishable privilege 
of him who commanded the greatest number 
of rifles. Again Prado would rule, not openly 
and defiantly, but secretly, by a force which 
held millions of souls in a thraldom of silence 
and slavery — the Katipunan Society. 

In an obscure corner known as Inlombo, 
within the jurisdiction of San Fabian, Vicente 


TO WEST POINT 


355 


Prado called his old cohorts together. The 
ranks were sadly depleted, but fifty-nine rifles 
responded, and were placed under the com- 
mand of Inocencio Prado, Vicente’s coach- 
man in the days of his ascendancy, while an 
indefinite number of bolomen were placed 
under the command of Juan Magaldan, 
already an assassin of great renown. 

Col. Quicoy Siongco controlled none of 
the troops of Vicente Prado, and his presence 
in Dagupan with the Katipunan chieftain was 
more or less accidental. Before the conquer- 
ing march of the American army, his guerril- 
las had gradually disappeared, and he was 
now casting about to find an opportunity for 
surrender on a “ generous financial basis.” 

He had met Vicente Prado when he passed 
through the Igorrote country, and impressed 
Batang and many of his associates into the 
ranks of the Insurgent army, and he and 
Prado would operate together and remain 
friends so long as they found it mutually ex- 
pedient. 

But the peace-loving-people of Pangasinan 
who had received the American troops with 
cheers and petitions to garrison their towns. 


356 WINNING HIS WAY 

were weary of war and resentful of Insurgent 
control, and they contributed but grudgingly 
to the “ army ” that loitered in Inlombo. 

Prado was outraged at the ingratitude of 
his countrymen. “ They are all ‘American- 
istas,’ ’’ he said, “ and they must be taught to 
respect my authority.” 

His armed force went forth, not to fight 
American troops, but to prey upon the peo- 
ple and compel them to contribute to its sup- 
port. 

Dressed as common citizens, as day laborers, 
no marks betrayed their calling. 

The escorts from Dagupan met them every 
day in the public roads, but to the Americans 
they were the peaceful non-combatants whose 
rights were inviolable. 

Three months had passed, and all Pangasi- 
nan was torn with internal anarchy. Men 
were killed as chickens, but as yet only 
low mutterings of an indefinite dread were 
heard by the American officers, and the troops 
at Dagupan heard least of all, for they were 
beyond the theatre of Prado’s operations, and 
soldiering was gradually assuming the char- 
acter of slain garrison duty. 


TO WEST POINT 


357 


Douglas Atwell had been appointed acting 
company quartermaster sergeant in the place 
of Sergeant Haller, who had returned to the 
States in broken health, while Sergeant Casey 
was now First Sergeant of the company in 
place of Sergeant Crimmins, who had never 
recovered from the wounds received on Febru- 
ary 5th and had died in the hospital in San 
Francisco. 

Babong had left the company, and after 
bidding a tearful good-bye to Douglas, Rus- 
sell, and Reddy Fagin, he had returned to his 
home in the Igorrote hills, fifteen miles from 
Dagupan, and Sergeant Atwell and Reddy 
Fagin now struggled with the problem of 
satisfying the ravenous appetites of Company 
M. Sergeant Casey helped his young assist- 
ant in this duty, for Douglas^ services were 
also needed for escorting rations to the outly- 
ing stations of the regiment, which kept 
the non-commissioned officers on constant 
duty. 

In his new office Douglas was now respon- 
sible for the security of all the company prop- 
erty, including the rifles of men absent from 
the company. These he kept locked in a 


358 WINNING HIS WAY 

storeroom beneath the barracks, and never 
permitted the keys to leave his possession. 

Douglas was about to retire one night in 
February — a year after the outbreak of hostil- 
ities — and he was carefully attaching the 
precious keys to a belt he wore about his 
waist, when Corporal Russell rushed into 
barracks and hurried to his bunk. 

“ Get your revolver, quick, he panted, 
and come with me.^’ 

Douglas asked no questions, but obeyed, 
and followed Russell as he ran down the 
principal street of Dagupan, and halted with 
an exclamation of disappointment in front of 
one of the large buildings. 

What was it? ” whispered Douglas. 

Quicoy Siongco,’’ said Russell ; “ Quicoy 
Siongco and Jackson. I saw them through 
the shutters of Victoriano Quemada’s house. 
They were sitting at a table and talking.’^ 

The house was now shrouded in darkness, 
and experience had taught the uselessness of 
a search. Siongco was elsewhere. 

“ Are you sure you saw them ? ” asked 
Douglas. 

I couldnT swear to it,’' said Russell. 


TO WEST POINT 


359 


Come back to barracks/’ said Douglas, as 
they hurried back up the street, “ and we will 
see where Jackson is.” 

Jackson was beside his cot preparing to re- 
tire when the two young men entered the 
squad room. 


CHAPTER XXI 


CAPTUKED 

It was morally certain that Jackson had 
met Col. Quicoy Siongco at the house of 
Victoriano Quemada, but there was just that 
element of uncertainty about the case which 
restrained Fred Russell and Douglas Atwell 
from reporting the case to Lieutenant Milton. 

If Jackson had been with Quicoy Siongco, 
he had left not a moment too soon to evade 
arrest at the hands of the two young soldiers, 
for they had mutually agreed that the time for 
conciliation and restraint had passed, and that 
if Jackson again committed himself, they 
would force him to suffer the natural conse- 
quences of his acts. But fortune had once 
more favored Jackson, or timely warning had 
reached him, and he was still in a position to 
defy his accusers if they attempted to arraign 
him on the charge. A month had passed 
since the occurrence of this event, when 
Douglas Atwell made a startling discovery. 

360 


TO WEST POINT 361 

** Russell,” said he, as he hurried into the 
squad room, and drew aside his good friend 
and counselor, “ I have just heard through 
the Sergeant-Major at headquarters that Vic- 
toriano Quemada’s son is an officer in the In- 
surgent army. The house was searched last 
night by the adjutant, and letters were cap- 
tured which showed that young Quemada 
served as a major in Quicoy Siongco’s regi- 
ment of guerrillas.” 

Did they find anything to incriminate 
Jackson ? ” asked Russell eagerly. 

Nothing so far as I could learn, though I 
could not ask directly,” said Douglas ; “ but 
we already know Jackson’s relations with 
Quicoy Siongco, and this discovery connects 
the Chino directly with Victoriano Quemado 
and his family. Russell,” he went on with 
rising emotion, “ we have been harboring and 
petting this den of wolves in our very midst. 
Old Victoriano Quemada has been considered 
one of the most friendly and trustworthy 
natives in the town ; he has come and gone 
among us at will, and it is astonishing that 
some tragedy has not already occurred. And 
that bloodthirsty Moro must be somewhere 


362 WINNING HIS WAY 

in the vicinity, and any night he might slip 
into barracks with his kampilan and kill a 
dozen men before we could discover what was 
going on.” 

“ Well, the question is,” said Russell, 
have we any right to subject the garrison 
to possible danger by still withholding 
what we know concerning Jackson’s inter- 
view with Quicoy Siongco at Victoriano’s 
house ? ” 

The two young men were still sitting to- 
gether earnestly discussing this question 
when First Sergeant Casey appeared in the 
door. 

Sergeant Atwell,” said he sharply, d’ye 
not know thit th’ bull train is waitin’ fur ye 
beyant this half hour ? ” 

‘‘ Great Scott ! ” exclaimed Douglas, as he 
jumped to his feet and seized his equipment, 
“ I forgot I was for duty to-day.” 

“ Forgot, did ye,” said Sergeant Casey, 
“ them thit wears th’ chivrons av a sergeant 
in this company don’t forget. Were ye 
slapin’ or wakin’ whin I read out th’ arthers 
last night? ” 

“ I heard the orders, Sergeant,” said Doug- 


TO WEST POINT 363 

las, “ but something happened this morning 
which made me forget.” 

“ Well,” said Sergeant Casey, in a milder 
tone, “ don’t let a saison’s grass grow undther 
yer feet in gettin’ t’ yer post av jooty,” and 
with these sharp words ringing in his ears, 
Douglas hurried down-stairs where the long 
line of bull-carts was standing loaded and 
ready to start. 

Distracted and confused by his uninten- 
tional neglect of duty Douglas set the train in 
motion while the all-important question con- 
cerning the disposition of Jackson’s case still 
remained undecided. 

Up to this moment, Quicoy Siongco had 
not made his presence felt in Dagupan, and 
the horizon was free from the slightest sug- 
gestion of a war cloud. Although the whole 
native population lived in mortal terror of 
Vicente Prado and his soldiers, yet the 
troops at Dagupan were in ignorance of his 
existence, and it w’as not known that Vicente 
Prado and Quicoy Siongco were fellow con- 
spirators in the little revolution which was 
raging beneath the surface in the province of 
Pangasinan. 


364 WINNING HIS WAY 

In ignorance of the dangers which lurked 
in the road, the bull train pulled slowly along 
on its long journey. 

Dagupan, the northern terminus of the 
railroad, was the distributing point for all 
provisions which were needed for the regi- 
ment. The rainy season was again approach- 
ing and all the stations from Dagupan to San 
Manuel must be retained to provide for three 
months’ isolation from the base of supplies. 
Rations must be transported from Dagupan 
by pack-mule and bull-cart train. 

On the day in question, the train was bound 
for Binalonan, and was under orders to return 
the next day, and Sergeant Douglas Atwell 
was in command of the escort. Jackson was 
to have been a member of the escort, but the 
illness of some of the men made it necessary 
to change the detail at the last moment, and 
Jackson was ordered to hold himself in readi- 
ness for guard duty in the place of a man who 
had gone to the hospital. 

Jackson’s petulant protest was met by a 
stern rebuke from Sergeant Casey, and re- 
membering his ten days’ experience as a 
prisoner in the guard-house, Jackson con- 


TO WEST POINT 365 

trolled his tongue, and sullenly watched the 
escort leave. 

Guard duty would hold him at Dagupan 
for twenty-four hours, and for some unac- 
countable reason he sought the more dis- 
agreeable duty of escorting the ration 
train. 

Sergeant Atwell arrived at Binalonan after 
a hard but uneventful march, under a sun 
that seemed to drive its heat rays through 
him like streams of hot liquid. 

The escort rested all night with regimental 
comrades at Binalonan, and early the next 
morning the empty carts set out for Dagupan 
on the return trip. 

A halt was made at Manaoag, and the men 
sat chatting freely with the members of the 
garrison. Sergeant Atwell had noticed a 
young native standing about and watching 
the soldiers with an interest which seemed 
unusual. Douglas approached him and spoke 
in a friendly tone, and the boy eagerly seized 
upon the opportunity to talk, and after a few 
meaningless remarks, he said : 

“ Este — este, Sefior Dooglas Atwell — aqui ? 
(Is Mr. Douglas Atwell here ? ) 


366 WINNING HIS WAY 

“ I am Douglas Atwell/’ said our young 
friend. “ Have you something for me ? ” and 
he cast a meaning glance at the boy. The 
young native sat down beside Douglas, and 
under the appearance of toying with his 
bayonet, slid his hand toward him along the 
grass. Without turning his head, Douglas 
raised his fingers and felt a note slip under- 
neath, and the boy then rose and began jab- 
bering with an ease and naturalness of man- 
ner which the most gifted actor could not 
have surpassed. 

Douglas withdrew^ from the observation of 
his comrades and tore open the letter which 
bore his name, and the translation ran as fol- 
lows : — 


Senor Douglas Atwell^ 

Company M, th Infantry, 

I beg to acknowledge receipt of your 
letter of March 12th, in wdiich you make an 
offer which I gratefully accept. 

As you state that you will be on escort 
duty to a ration train on Friday, one of my 
trusted young couriers will meet you at 
Manaoag, and will hand you this note. We 


TO WEST POINT 367 

profit by your suggestion that Dagupan is too 
dangerous. 

In order that I may know that all is well, 
please do me the favor to see Senor Victoriano 
Quemada of Dagupan, and have him place 
one light in his window as a signal that my 
men may approach in safety. 

Darkness in the window will indicate 
danger. 

To-night then at eleven o’clock I will await 
your signal, and may God guard you many 
years. 

Quicoy Siongco, 

Colonel of Guerrillas. 

P. S. We trust that you have secured the 
keys to the company storeroom. 


Douglas thrust his hand into his pocket as 
he read the last line. The keys were gone, 
and so far as he knew. Sergeant Casey had not 
taken them, and nobody else was authorized 
to touch them. 

For a moment objects seemed in a whirl 
before his eyes, for no matter how slight might 
have been his carelessness with the keys, if 
his storeroom were plundered and twenty odd 
rifies therein were captured by the Insurgents 


368 WINNING HIS WAY 

through such carelessness, nothing could save 
him from trial and punishment by a general 
court-martial. 

Once more the Krag- Jorgensens might crush 
out the life of his own comrades as Jackson’s 
rifle had done on the banks of the Quingua. 

Yes, his keys were gone, and think as ear- 
nestly as he might, he could not recall what he 
did with them, or exactly when he last had 
them. The moments of confusion and un- 
pleasantness preceding his departure from 
Dagupan due to his forgetting temporarily 
that he was for duty with the escort, had 
caused him to leave in undue haste, and while 
he could not flx the whereabouts of the keys, 
yet he was certain that he had not turned 
them over to Sergeant Casey. 

Eleven o’clock that night was the hour set 
for plundering his storeroom, but with the 
keys probably in the possession of his enemy, 
the rifles might be abstracted one by one, and 
Douglas might reach Dagupan to And his fair 
reputation tarnished forever, and Jackson’s 
triumph would be complete. 

The thought brought him to his feet pre- 
pared to act at once. He must reach Dagupan 


TO WEST POINT 


369 

at all hazards, lay the note before Lieutenant 
Milton, and if possible capture the conspira- 
tors at their work. 

The Quartermaster-Sergeant of the com- 
pany stationed at Manaoag owned a native 
pony, and Douglas dashed into the kitchen in 
quest of the owner of this precious beast. 

Sergeant, said he, “ will you lend me 
your pony to ride to Dagupan ? I will take 
good care of him, and will return him to- 
morrow by the escort which will be coming 
out.” 

“ Certainly,” said the Sergeant, take the 
nag, Atwell, and welcome ; but what^s your 
hurry ? ” 

Douglas evaded an answer, and turned the 
conversation to the merits of the horse, as he 
hurriedly adjusted the equipment and leaped 
into the saddle. 

“ I won’t forget your kindness, Sergeant,” 
said he, as he trotted out to the road. “You 
are doing me a great favor.” 

Douglas relinquished command of the es- 
cort to the non-commissioned officer, next to 
him in rank, and turning his horse’s head 
toward Dagupan, he galloped down the road. 


370 


WINNING HIS WAY 


Douglas was armed with his heavy six- 
shooter, and felt no anxiety as he urged 
his little pony forward toward San Jacinto, 
where a company of the regiment was sta- 
tioned. He saw natives laboring quietly in 
the fields, and passed others in the road, but 
their stolid, expressionless faces told nothing 
of the nights of terror through which they 
had been living since Vicente Prado’s 
“ army ” had appeared to reestablish the 
sovereignty of the Katipunan Society. 

The fierce heat of the morning, the rapid 
pace at which he was riding, and the anxiety 
which he was suffering, had parched the 
young Sergeant’s throat, and as he saw a 
native girl drawing a pail of refreshing water 
from the well, he reined up his horse, sprang 
from the saddle, and asked for a drink. 

The girl handed him a half cocoanut shell 
filled with water, and Douglas raised the cool- 
ing fiuid to his lips. 

He had paid no heed to a number of natives 
on the roadside, laborers apparently, about to 
enter the fields of bamboo with their bolos, 
which dangled in wooden sheaths at their 
sides ; neither was he alarmed as they walked 


TO WEST POINT 


371 


up behind him ostensibly to secure a drink of 
the water which had invited him from his 
horse. 

Suddenly Douglas was knocked to the 
ground by a heavy blow on the back of his 
head, and as he fell, his pistol was wrenched 
from his holster, his feet and hands were 
seized, and a rope was slipped around his 
ankles and drawn tight. 

The blow had stunned him, but with a 
thrill of horror he recognized the man who 
clung to his wrists as the Moro, and with the 
energy of desperation he struggled for liberty 
until his strength succumbed beneath re- 
peated blows of bamboo clubs. 

In a moment his feet were securely lashed 
together, his arms were bound at the elbows, 
and held together by strands of rope which 
crossed his back, while a knotted rope was 
forced into his mouth with a stick, and tied 
behind his head. 

Thus gagged and bound, a long bamboo 
pole was thrust between his feet and under- 
neath the ropes which crossed his back, and 
two natives raised the pole to their shoulders 
and dashed off for the forest. 


WINNING HIS WAY 


372 

Behind them came the rest of the band, 
eight in number, brandishing their bolos, and 
striking Douglas in the face, while Pedro 
Acosta, the chief of the squad, followed on 
the horse which Douglas had ridden. 

Sergeant Douglas Atwell was a prisoner in 
the hands of the outlaws of Juan Magaldan, 
chief of bolomen to Vicente Prado, and the 
Moro was a member of his band. 

Evil fortune could not have chosen a more 
opportune moment for placing Douglas in 
their power, for they had come there for the 
express purpose of taking a prisoner — not 
Sergeant Douglas Atwell, but rather the 
native Presidente of San Jacinto, who was to 
be captured by Vicente Prado’s orders, im- 
paled on a bamboo stalk, and roasted to death 
over a slow fire, ‘‘ because he seemed to sym- 
pathize with the American Cause.” 

The capture of the white victim drew off 
the assassins, and a few moments later the 
Presidente passed on in safety to his town, un- 
conscious of the terrible danger that had 
awaited him. 

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scene to bind him were now cutting th^QUgh 


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TO WEST POINT 


373 


the flesh of the poor boy whose body hung in 
anguish from the pole. As one pair of ruf- 
fians tired of their burden they flung him 
upon the ground, and drew their bolos across 
his throat to indicate the fate that awaited 
him. 

Terrible as were these moments, they were, 
nevertheless, a welcome relief from the tor- 
ture of hanging face downward from the pole. 

The ropes had cut through the skin, and his 
forearms were swollen and powerless, when 
Douglas was flung at the feet of Inocincio 
Prado in an outlying barrio of San Fabian. 

After howling his incomprehensible execra- 
tions in Douglas’ face, the Insurgent officer 
expressed himself as well pleased, and dis- 
tributed a few dollars among the captors as a 
reward for their brilliant work. Moreover, 
the prisoner’s clothing was to be divided 
among them. 

The ropes were loosed from Douglas’ limp 
and bleeding arms, and his clothing was 
stripped from his body, and each received a 
souvenir of the event. An uproar, which 
came near terminating in a fatal quarrel, was 
produced by the discovery of twenty-five dol- 


374 


WINNING HIS WAY 


lars in his trousers pocket — funds with which 
he had been entrusted to make purchases for 
the company, but which would now go to re- 
ward the exulting outlaws who had accom- 
plished his capture. 

The prisoner was tied to a tree with the sun 
beating down upon his unprotected body, 
while an armed sentinel sat in the shade and 
watched him. In the afternoon, he was given 
a small shirt of native goods, his hands were 
tied behind his back, and the party marched 
to Inlombo where Douglas discovered, to his 
utter amazement, that the instigator of all the 
anguish and humiliation he had suffered, was 
none other than Vicente Prado, who had 
“ surrendered to the commanding officer in 
Dagupan. 

The heart-sick boy lay in the dark room 
with his hands upon his throbbing temples, 
while from without came a native’s screams 
of anguish, as he lay lashed to a fallen tree 
and suffered a torture for being an “ Ameri- 
canisto.” 

But of all the pains that Douglas suffered 
that night, the greatest was due to the belief 
that Jackson had brought about his capture. 


CHAPTER XXII 


A PKISONER IN THE CAMP OF “ MASIQUEN 
LAOAK ” 

As the first gray streaks of dawn were ap- 
pearing in the east, on the second day of his 
imprisonment in Inlombo, Douglas Atwell 
awoke, stiff and racked with pain in every 
limb. He had been given no covering during 
the night, and had slept in the light native 
shirt furnished him the preceding day, and 
which was still his only garment. 

His chest now throbbed with pain, and each 
arm bore three deep cuts made by the ropes 
that had bound him, while his face, neck and 
shoulders were covered with ugly bruises. 

There were others in the room in quite as 
sad a plight as he, for during the night, na- 
tives who had been tortured for their alleged 
sympathy with the American Cause, had been 
thrown into the room with him, and their 
groans and pleadings had helped complete a 
night of misery. 


375 


376 WINNING HIS WAY 

But with the bright sunlight that poured 
through the foliage and crept through the 
walls of his prison-room, courage came back 
to the suffering lad, and he resolved to rise 
superior to his terrible surroundings, to pa- 
tiently bear the worst that might come, and 
to finally escape, or to sell his life dearly in 
the effort. 

So Douglas rose, ate the cold rice with his 
fingers in Filipino fashion, and was ready for 
the fate of the day. 

The Moro entered his room, mocked him, 
and drew the edge of his bolo across his throat 
with a gurgling sound, but Douglas restrained 
his temper. He must wait till the muscles of 
his arms had recovered their suppleness, till 
the shackles were off his limbs, and then, ah, 
then, the day might come when his comrades 
would find this nest in the forest, and he 
might cross bayonets for the last time with 
the brute who now gloated over his helpless- 
ness. 

And the guard was now releasing his 
hands. Instead of the shackles upon his 
wrists, a chain was locked about his waist, 
and the guard attached a rope to the chain. 


TO WEST POINT 


377 


took the end and bade him leave the room. 
A pair of native knee-breeches were handed 
him, and in this costume he was marched up- 
stairs, at the end of the rope, to the quarters 
of Vicente Prado, and the sentinel stood over 
him while he swept and cleaned the room, 
and polished the hardwood floors with fresh 
banana leaves. 

“ Trabaja, perro (work, dog), said the 
guard, as he struck Douglas a stinging blow 
across the back with a piece of rattan. The 
outraged boy jumped to his feet and faced 
his tormentor ; but, realizing that the slight- 
est pretext would be seized upon for assassi- 
nating him, Douglas controlled his anger, and 
resumed his work as well as his strained 
muscles would permit. 

The various detachments entered the room 
as he worked, received their orders from 
Vicente Prado, and soon left to take their 
places on the highways, in the garb of labor- 
ers, to watch for prey, while Douglas was 
taken to the kitchen to assist in cooking and 
cleaning. 

At night the detachments returned bring- 
ing with them a number of native prisoners. 


378 WINNING HIS WAY 

and once more the tortures began, and the 
cries of pain were still ringing in his ears 
when Douglas succumbed to his weariness and 
fell asleep. 

Thus, three days passed, three days of hor- 
ror, and on the evening of the last day, the 
riflemen and bolomen streamed in from all 
directions until nearly the entire command 
was present. 

A beautiful moon rose over the tree-tops of 
Inlombo, and under its magnificent efful- 
gence, the troops of Vicente Prado formed to 
march to his camp in the mountains. 

For an hour the silent column followed 
trails through the jungle, across isolated rice- 
fields, and down the narrow lanes, until the 
habitations of man disappeared and only the 
forest enveloped the soldiers of the Katipunan 
order. Then the course suddenly changed to 
the bed of a precipitous little mountain stream, 
densely overhung with interlacing branches, 
up which the column climbed until it emerged 
at a little village nestling on the hillside. 

“ Where are we ? ” asked Douglas in 
Spanish. 

“ At Esperanza, with the Igorrotes, my dog,” 


TO WEST POINT 


379 


said the guard, in an almost incomprehensible 
dialect. “ Look at it well. You’ll never see 
it again,” and he tapped his bolo suggestively. 
But the words thrilled Douglas with hope in- 
stead of fear, for Esperanza was the name of 
the village to which Babong had referred in 
his talks about his home in the mountains. 

Some time ago Babong had returned to his 
old haunts, and somewhere among these peaks 
and crags Douglas Atwell knew there dwelt a 
true and valiant friend, and with new courage 
he breasted the slopes toward Prado’s camp. 

To the silent, branded sons of the Kati- 
punan order, Vicente Prado declared that he, 
under the pseudonym of “ Masiquen Laoak ” 
(old desert), would reign as King of all the 
Philippines with money at his command, and 
Amejicans as his peons. And no king of 
ancient barbaric clan ever felt a keener joy 
than did Vicente Prado as he unfurled the 
Katipunan banner from the mountain peaks 
that frowned down upon the sleeping inhabit- 
ants of Dagupan. 

Already a number of buildings had been 
partially constructed by native laborers who 
had been held as prisoners by a small guard, 


380 WINNING HIS WAY 

and to the room occupied by these prisoners 
Douglas Atwell was consigned for the night. 

Though his bare feet were bruised and 
bleeding from the long march over the rough 
country, yet he slept soundly and awoke re- 
freshed. 

Immediately after his breakfast of boiled 
rice and fish, he was marched to Prado’s new 
quarters to perform his usual task, and then 
ordered to mount to the roof of Prado’s house 
and go to work with the native prisoners. 
Only a small section of the roof had been 
finished and Douglas was to assist in com- 
pleting it. 

Though the work exposed him to the mer- 
ciless heat of the sun, he gladly accepted the 
task, for so long as he remained upon the 
roof he was free from the insults and abuse of 
the guards who were posted over him. 

Up to the date of his arrival at this camp, 
Vicente Prado had operated without restraint 
or opposition, controlling a multitude by the 
power of a Katipunan symbol, but the sudden 
and unexplainable disappearance of Sergeant 
Douglas Atwell had aroused the garrison at 
Dagupan to a suspicion of the dangers that 


TO WEST POINT 381 

lurked in the road, while it had inflamed 
‘‘ Masiquen Laoak ” to more daring enter- 
prise. 

He now despatched his armed forces in 
every direction, and assumed an air of open 
hostility ; but this temerity won a prompt re- 
sponse, for on the morning of the third day 
after his arrival in the mountains, a detach- 
ment of his troops straggled back into camp 
bearing two wounded comrades, and Douglas 
Atwell heard with joy that they had en- 
countered a patrol of the th Infantry 

during the night. The flght occurred near 
the concealed trail which ran to camp, and 
Masiquen Laoak trembled lest his hiding- 
place should be discovered. No American 
troops had ever scouted in that territory be- 
fore, and Prado declared that the Igorrotes of 
Esperanza were spying upon him, and be- 
traying his movements to the American 
troops. 

Qo,^' said Masiquen Laoak to Inocincio 
Prado, “ and bring back the traitors, the 
Igorrote spies,^’ and shortly after noon 
Inocincio returned with an old Igorrote and 
his wife, who lived like a pair of forlonx 


382 WINNING HIS WAY 

crows in a little shack adjacent to the spot 
where the Americans had been encountered. 

The aged couple protested their innocence, 
and begged piteously for mercy, but “ the 
Igorrotes of Esperanza need an object lesson 
to emphasize the importance of silence,’' said 
Vicente, and despite their apparent inno- 
cence, the aged couple were condemned to 
death. 

Sitting upon the roof of Prado’s house, 
Douglas Atwell saw the two old Igorrotes led 
into the open, bound hand and foot, and 
hacked to death with bolos by Benito Amanzec 
and a detachment of soldiers. 

Benito was a newly appointed lieutenant in 
Prado’s army,” and while as yet but eighteen 
years of age, he was already several times a 
murderer. Benito had come bravely recom- 
mended for the honor which Prado had con- 
ferred upon him, for it was reported that he 
had enticed an American soldier from his 
command at Asingan, and had then murdered 
him with his own rifle, and marched in 
Prado’s camp with the weapons of his victim. 
Benito Amanzec was an ideal subordinate for 
the kind of warfare that Prado sought to 


TO WEST POINT 383 

wage, and the young murderer found ready 
employment in his new field, where the hos- 
tility of the people to Prado was reaching a crisis. 

While the security of the camp from attack 
by the American forces permitted Masiquen 
Laoak to bid defiance in louder tones, its dis- 
tance from the lowland sources of supply 
increased the opportunities of the harassed 
inhabitants to evade the contributions which 
Prado had levied upon them ; yet deeply as 
they groaned under his burdens and his 
tortures, not one dared betray him to the 
American authorities. Thus denied the single 
word which would have accomplished the 
downfall of Vicente Prado, the American 
patrols uselessly scouted the trails by night, 
beat up the underbrush, pursued false rumors, 
and followed lying, terror-stricken guides on 
prostrating, fruitless marches, but this display 
of tireless energy bore fruit in calling back 
the spirit to the cowed inhabitants of Pan- 
gasinan. 

Of all the towns which suffered the whip of 
the Katipunan chieftain, San Jacinto had be- 
come the least servile and submissive. 

They are all Americanistos,” said Prado. 


384 WINNING HIS WAY 

I will burn their town to ashes, and when 
the American troops are driven out, I will 
teach them to respect a Katipunan chieftain.” 

Great was the ostentation and display as 
Inocincio Prado, Benito Amanzec, and En- 
glino Fernandez (a new lieutenant in Prado’s 
force) marched out with their troops to attack 
and burn the town. 

From behind the bars of his prison-room 
Douglas Atwell watched the sky glow red 
with the flames that shot up from the burning 
shacks as unarmed natives were forced to ad- 
vance and set fire to their own dwellings and 
risk their lives in so doing before the terrific 
musketry of the American garrison ; but in 
the morning only a thin line of ruined shacks 
on the outskirts of the town was all that 
Vicente Prado could boast in return for the 
dead and wounded in his own ranks. 

This mad act was the beginning of the end, 
however, for publicity is the poison which is 
fatal to Katipunan success. 

Infatuated, however, by the notoriety which 
his aggressive campaign was winning, Prado 
wrote this letter to the Presidente of Pozor- 
rubio : — 


TO WEST POINT 


385 


My Dear Little Countryman : — 

I know your high-toned patriotism. I 
know how you weep with me for the wrongs 
of our dear fatherland. Strike a blow for our 
beloved country. Assemble the faithful in the 
church on Easter Sunday morning, and let each 
carry a knife concealed beneath his camisa. 
The Americans will suspect nothing. Say 
the word. My dear countryman, I await the 
rifles which your noble work will win. 

Masiquen Laoak. 

The frightened Presidente brought the letter 
to the commanding officer, and became an ally, 
but even his courage failed when urged to 
guide the American troops to Prado’s camp, 
and he declared that he knew not the hiding- 
place of Masiquen Laoak.” 

At the news of the open disaffection of 
these local Presidentes, Prado’s anger knew no 
bounds, and he condemned them all to death, 
and Inocincio Prado and his riflemen marched 
upon Rosario to claim the first victim. 
Noiselessly he crept beneath the Presi- 
dente’s house at midnight and opened fire 
through the building occupied by sleeping 
men, women and children. 


386 WINNING HIS WAY 

The Presidente and his little son were shot 
to death, and the rest of the occupants of the 
house were taken as prisoners to camp. 

The prison was now filled to overflowing, 
and Douglas Atwell eagerly watched each new 
act of indiscretion and barbarity straining the 
bounds of secrecy which held the people in 
slavish silence. 

Each day he went to work upon the vari^ 
ous buildings which Masiquen Laoak was con- 
structing as the nucleus of a capital which 
he dreamed would one day dominate the 
whole Philippine Archipelago ; each night he 
spent long, sleepless hours furtively watching 
for some opportunity of escape, but the senti- 
nels guarded him with a vigilance which 
indicated that their lives would pay the pen- 
alty if he succeeded. 

He had been witness to only a small part of 
the barbarity which had characterized the 
three weeks’ duration of this Insurgent camp, 
but his soul was sick with horror at what he 
saw and heard, and with anxiety as to his own 
fate. 

Each night the Moro came to his prison-room 
and indicated some horrible death he was to 


TO WEST POINT 387 

suffer. Once he drove a bamboo splinter 
through a piece of meat and roasted it slowly 
while he screamed and twisted his body in 
imitation of Douglas burning at the stake. 

‘‘ But this is only the meaningless brutality 
of a savage/' thought Douglas. 

However, the next morning when Douglas 
went to his work upon the roof, Quicoy 
Siongco was in the rooms below, and he and 
Masiquen Laoak were discussing the “ Ameri- 
cano." They spoke in Spanish and Douglas 
eagerly followed the drift of their remarks. 

“What are you going to do with him?" 
asked the Chino. 

Douglas held his breath and strained his 
ears, but while only fragments of the answer 
floated up to the prisoner on the roof, the time 
and manner of Vicente Prado's reply clearly 
indicated that Douglas was to be butchered on 
some great occasion when “other prisoners ar- 
rived in camp." 

It was then, only a matter of time when the 
Moro would lead him out to slaughter, and 
Douglas Atwell's head reeled as he thought of 
this terrible fate. 

It was of little moment to him now, but he 


388 WINNING HIS WAY 

gathered from the conversation below that his 
capture was a stroke of good fortune,” and 
in no wise the result of a plot. 

He stupidly ran into our arms,” said Prado, 
“ while we were waiting for the Presidente of 
San Jacinto, a traitor who must finally be 
captured.” 

The native boy who had handed Douglas 
the note at Manaoag had mistaken him for 
Jackson, and while Jackson was not respon- 
sible for the capture of Douglas Atwell, the 
conversation showed that he was guilty of all 
the other forms of conspiracy of which he had 
been suspected. These things, at one time so 
important, now dwindled into insignificance 
beside the life and death issues in which our 
young friend was involved. 

That night, the 31st of March, as Douglas 
lay upon the bamboo floor of his prison-room, 
he was thrilled with new hope in the news 
that Prado’s troops had once more encoun- 
tered an American patrol. The camp was in 
an uproar and the exhausted stragglers were 
marching a native woman before them as a 
prisoner. 

They had been cut off by the Americans, 


TO WEST POINT 389 

and as they broke for safety in the forest, they 
beheld an Igorrote, with long flowing hair, 
among the soldiers in the American column. 

After the pursuit ceased, the remnants of 
the band halted and consulted together, and 
some there were who said they knew the 
Igorrote and where he lived, and they went to 
his home and found him absent. But his 
wife was there, and they took her a prisoner 
with her six months’ old babe, and brought 
her to Masiquen Laoak to be judged. 

What punishment was to be inflicted upon 
her, Douglas could not understand, but when 
she was pushed into his prison-room, her an- 
guish knew no bounds, and she rushed about, 
clasping the babe to her breast, and screaming 
with terror. The sentinel roughly subdued 
her, and finally flung her upon the flool* be- 
side Douglas, where she sat moaning and 
caressing her babe. 

The fading light fell upon the child’s face, 
with its long black hair falling in shaggy 
ringlets about its ears, and Douglas yearned 
for strength to help the distracted mother. 

As she looked down upon his white, sym- 
pathetic face, her emotion subsided, and in the 


390 


WINNING HIS WAY 


low mutter which she was directing to him 
he realized that she was appealing for aid. 

Finally she held out her hand, and almost 
inaudibly came the words, anting-anting, 
anting-anting.'’ 

Clearly she was imploring a charm against 
danger and for the child, and at once Douglas 
guessed the situation — the child was to suffer 
some horrible death to force the mother to 
acknowledge the guilt and reveal the where- 
abouts of her husband. And a thought 
flashed through Douglas Atwell’s mind which 
made him quiver with emotion. 

There was still light and the room was 
crowded with prisoners, who paid no heed to 
him or the moaning woman. Unobserved by 
the sentinel, Douglas drew forth pen, ink and 
paper which he had managed to secure from 
Vicente Prado’s desk from time to time as he 
cleaned the rooms, and now, lying upon his 
face, he sketched with fervor and skill, for he 
was working for a child’s life, and for his own 
liberty. 

In a few moments he had drawn an outline 
of the babe as an angel, surrounded with a 
halo of light, while from its hand a stroke of 


TO WEST POINT 


391 

lightning was directed toward the dead body 
of Vicente Prado. 

“ Anting-anting/' said Douglas as he 
stealthily slipped the sketch to the mother. 

From his experience with Babong, Douglas 
knew that the woman would devise a crafty 
use for the charm, and for hours he lay 
planning the next step if the first should 
succeed. 

On the morning of April 1st, no detach- 
ments left Vicente Prado’s camp, and his 
soldiers were standing about in groups, ap- 
parently waiting in high glee for some keen 
and unusual pleasure. 

Breakfast was soon finished, and Vicente 
Prado stepped down from his house, and as he 
came toward the prison-room, the mob, per- 
haps one hundred in number, followed re- 
spectfully behind. 

The doors were flung open, and the Igorrote 
woman was led forth, sobbing piteously, with 
her babe clasped in her arms. 

The door was about to close on Douglas 
Atwell and his guard when Inocincio Prado 
made some remark to his chief, and Vicente 


392 WINNING HIS WAY 

commanded the guard to bring the prisoner 
along. 

The march had been kept up for an hour, 
perhaps, when the head of the column halted, 
and Douglas was moved up by the anxious 
guard until he commanded a view of the 
scene in front. 

In an open space was an Igorrote shack, 
while within a large cage, constructed of hard- 
wood bars, was a huge python. 

The savage reptile, with glittering eyes and 
elevated head, was thrashing about the cage 
in a frenzy of hunger, and Douglas AtwelTs 
heart stood still as he saw a soldier tearing the 
child from the mother’s arms, and he realized 
the import of the scene. The punishment 
devised for the mother was to see her child 
crushed and eaten by the python. 

The soldier was about to advance to the cage 
with the babe in his arms, when the Igorrote 
woman uttered a piercing scream and flung 
herself upon the child, while with a motion so 
quick and dexterous that Douglas could not 
follow it, she flipped the sketch high into the 
air, and it fluttered down at Prado’s feet. 

Clinging to the babe, the mother suddenly 


TO WEST POINT 


393 


sank as if touched by some supernatural 
power, and turned toward heaven a look of 
such reverential, soul-stirring fear, that the 
soldier paused, startled. 

Vicente Prado picked up the little sketch 
and visibly shrank and trembled as he gazed. 
There was a moment^s hesitation, and a su- 
perstitious stillness settled over the throng. 

Vicente Prado gazed about upon the awe- 
struck faces of his followers, and then upon 
the woman who cowered, like a stricken soul, 
upon the grass, and then in a voice forced and 
husky, he said, 

“ Pobrecita (poor little thing), let her have 
her child. We had only intended to frighten 
her.’’ 

Douglas Atwell scarcely knew where he was 
treading as he stumbled along behind the 
frightened mob which followed Vicente Prado 
back to camp. 

He could not believe that Vicente Prado 
had intended to commit this piece of superla- 
tive barbarity, and probably he had not. But 
in the mind of the Igorrote mother who now 
fled unheeded down the mountainside, it was 
Douglas Atwell who had snatched her curly 
headed babe from the jaws of the reptile. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


AN ESCAPE AND A CAPTUEE 

Upon his return to his prison-room from 
the scene with the python, Douglas Atwell 
secreted upon his person the pen, ink, and re- 
maining bits of paper which he had secured 
from Prado’s desk, and in a few moments he 
was marched out to work, and concealed his 
treasures beneath the sheafs of nipa which 
covered a finished section of the roof. 

It was a saving inspiration to conceal these 
articles, for when he came down from his 
work for dinner, his sleeping place had been 
ransacked, and he was himself stripped and 
searched. 

All that was now needed was one faithful 
friend to carry a written or a verbal message 
to Lieutenant Milton, and then guide him to 
these hills, and a hundred eager comrades 
would sweep on to Douglas Atwell’s rescue. 

His hope was built upon the belief that the 
394 


TO WEST POINT 


395 


Igorrote woman would return to express her 
gratitude for his service to her child, and 
Douglas did not hope in vain. 

That night as he lay wide awake and plan- 
ning, he thought he heard the wind begin to 
moan at the bars which crossed the window 
above his sleeping place. But a human note 
seemed to vibrate in the message of the winds, 
and Douglas cautiously rose upon his elbow 
and listened. All was quiet elsewhere, and 
the sentinel was leaning back against the wall 
in the far corner of the room with a dim 
lantern burning at his feet. 

Douglas slowly drew himself to his feet, and 
pressed his face against the bars of the win- 
dow. He could hear the quiet breathing of 
some one, and suddenly he felt the touch of a 
hand. 

The Igorrote woman had returned. She 
drew Douglas’ hand through the bars, and 
covered it with kisses, pressed it against her 
face, and cooed out the strange, mellow sound 
so like the sighing of the winds. The ant- 
ing-anting,” which she thought had saved her 
baby’s life, was in her hand. 

Douglas indicated that he wished to speak. 


396 WINNING HIS WAY 

and at length she pressed her face against the 
bars, and at last the prisoner of Masiquen 
Laoak could touch a key-board which would 
ring out a message of distress to hearts that 
beat for him in distant Dagupan. 

Into the intent ear Douglas whispered 
the words, “ Babong ! Babong ! Babong el 
Igorrote ! ” while the convulsive clasp of his 
hands completed the message which his 
tongue could not form. 

The sentinel stirred and seemed upon the 
point of rising. Douglas cautiously sank in 
his place, and the winds ceased sighing at the 
window-sill, but all night long the Igorrote 
mother trotted like a young deer along the 
narrow trails, up the mountains, through the 
valleys, until she had delivered her message. 

One glance at the sketch upon the an ting- 
anting which the woman carried revealed the 
identity of the prisoner, for many times during 
the long camp evenings after their bouts with 
the bayonet, Douglas Atwell had amused 
Babong with his clever sketches. 

And now as morning was breaking along 
the mountain-tops, Babong and the Igorrote 
mother might be seen hurrying through the 


TO WEST POINT 


397 

hills which led to the camp where Douglas 
Atwell lay a prisoner. A great bolo swung at 
Babong’s side, a dagger glittered in his waist 
belt, and his heart bounded with joy like a 
young deer’s as he leaped along the trails 
where every head-hunter knew and feared the 
name of Babong, the Igorrote. 

But Douglas must contain his soul in 
patience, for it would be madness for Babong 
to approach the camp until night. 

When Douglas went out to his work on the 
roof-top, he noticed that instead of one, there 
were three sentinels now guarding him, and 
he looked eagerly about for some explanation 
of this unusual precaution. 

Nearly all the soldiers had left camp, but 
down at the kitchen an ox had been killed, 
and preparations were in progress for a 
fiesta. 

What fiesta is this ? ” asked Douglas. 

The fiesta of the slaughter of three white 
bulls,” replied one of the native laborers, and 
the rest laughed nervously. 

Douglas could not understand the reply, but 
nevertheless the native’s manner filled him 
with a dread which he could not overcome. 


398 WINNING HIS WAY 

The sun was soon pouring down its melting 
heat upon his head, but his head throbbed 
more fiercely with the thoughts that raged 
within, and again and again he raised his eyes 
and searched the narrow trails for some sign 
of the stalwart figure of the Igorrote. 

It was ten o’clock perhaps when Douglas 
once more raised his eyes, and this time a 
spectacle met his gaze that made him sink, 
weak and trembling, upon his sheaf of 
nipa. 

A long thin line of men was toiling slowly 
up the mountain trail from the direction of 
Inlombo. In front of them marched two 
white prisoners, naked, their arms bound be- 
hind them. They were escorted by some 
forty riflemen, and followed by a howling 
mob of bolomen. 

The rabble swung into camp and halted in 
front of Vicente Prado’s house, on the roof of 
wdiich Douglas was working, and to his horror 
he saw that the two white prisoners were 
Private Anthony Gurzinski, of Manaoag, and 
Private Frank Kane, of Dagupan, both of his 
own regiment. 

Inocincio Prado came up-stairs, and Doug- 


TO WEST POINT 


399 

las heard him reporting to his chief the im- 
portant captures he had made. 

Then Vicente Prado stepped out in front of 
his house, and looking fiercely upon the cap- 
tives, cried out, Kill them, because they are 
your enemies.’^ 

Then some one struck a blow which stained 
Gurzinski’s chest with red, and seized with 
the lust of blood, the rabble flung themselves 
upon the two bound and naked prisoners, 
and began hacking them with their bolos. 

Transfixed with horror, Douglas had not 
heard the sentinel commanding him to de- 
scend to the slaughter, until a shot rang out, 
and a bullet tore up the nipa roof beneath his 
body. 

Douglas Atwell was to be assassinated, and 
the occasion of the slaughter of three white 
bulls was to be honored as a holiday. 

Springing to his feet, Douglas ran to the 
edge of the roof and measured the distance 
for a leap, but it would be mere suicide to 
jump that great distance, and succumbing to 
a sudden wave of despair, he ran down the 
ladder intending to leap among the riflemen 
and to die as a brave man should. 


400 


WINNING HIS WAY 


He had reached the ground and was rush- 
ing barehanded upon the enemy, when a 
shrill shout broke upon his ears, and Babong, 
the Igorrote, leaped among the riflemen, and 
with a stroke like lightning almost decapi- 
tated the nearest man. 

In an instant Douglas had wrenched the 
rifle from the hands of the second sentinel, 
while Babong cut down the third. 

Seizing the dead man^s belt, Douglas and 
Babong fled breathlessly behind the build- 
ings, while the attention of the bulk of the 
assassins was engaged on the front side with 
Gurzinski and Kane. 

Like a wild deer Babong ran, his long 
bloody bolo clutched ready for combat, while 
Douglas raced on behind him, and as they 
reached the trail down the mountainside, a 
great shout rose from the mob, and shots 
rattled about them on the rocks. 

In one startled look to the rear, Douglas 
saw the rabble as they came on, led by the 
Moro, and he strained every nerve to keep 
pace with the fleet-footed Igorrote. 

In a few moments they emerged from the 
trail near Esperanza, and Babong dashed 


TO WEST POINT 


401 


panting into the thick underbush, struck the 
ropes from the necks of two horses that stood 
waiting in the woods, and the fugitives leaped 
to their backs. 

The stones rolled beneath the horses’ feet, 
and the plucky little animals slipped and 
stumbled, but they kept their feet, and 
Babong galloped into a ravine, and leaped 
from his horse’s back. The bridles were 
pulled from the heads of the fagged animals, 
and Babong dragged Douglas by the arm into 
a little cave and sat panting. 

We’ve outrun them, Babong, let us go 
on,” urged Douglas, but Babong shook his 
head. 

“ During the night we will make the trip,” 
he said, but there are enemies all the way.” 

But the Insurgents may trace us to the 
cave,” said Douglas. 

Babong laughed. We will then go out 
through the other end, and escape by a trail 
which no man has ever trod but Babong, the 
Igorrote.” 

Overcome with gratitude for his deliver- 
ance, Douglas grasped the Igorrote’s hand, but 
Babong merely smiled and pointed to the 


402 


WINNING HIS WAY 


wounds on his legs and arms which he had 
received that night in Manila when Douglas 
saved him from his enemies. 

They drank from a cooling pool of water in 
the cave, and ate some dried fish and meat 
which Babong carried in a little basket slung 
across his back, while the Insurgents passed 
on and concealed themselves along the roads. 

It was late at night and all was still in the 
towns when Douglas and Babong set out on 
their perilous march, and toward midnight 
they reached the lowlands and ventured out 
into a road. 

They were not far from Pozorrubio when 
they emerged from the shadows of the bamboo 
into the moonlight, and found themselves 
within twenty paces of an armed party which 
was advancing upon them. 

Enemies,’’ whispered Babong, as he 
whipped out his bolo and prepared for battle. 

Escape was impossible except through the 
enemy’s ranks, and Douglas raised his rifie 
and fired twice in rapid succession. Two men 
fell, and he and Babong sprang upon the rest 
of the party, now four in number. 

A piercing scream came from the enemy’s 



'J^HE MORO GAVE GROUND AND TREMBLED 



TO WEST POINT 


403 

faltering ranks as their leader drove them into 
the fight, a scream such as Douglas had heard 
on the banks of the Quingua when the Moro 
led the charge upon Corporal Casey’s little 
squad, and now Douglas realized that the 
final issue had come at last as his bayonet 
crossed the Moro’s kampilan. 

Behind him Babong’s fierce war-cry was 
sounding as his bolo rattled against the blade 
of an opponent, and Douglas felt that noth- 
ing could save his enemy this time. 

With all his strength he immediately 
lunged forward, and as the Moro fiung up his 
shield, the bayonet split it and the point 
pierced his chest. With a shout Douglas 
came on to the attack, while the Moro gave 
ground and his magnificent muscles trem- 
bled. 

His only hope now lay in flight, but if he 
turned his back, a bullet would reach him, 
and with teeth set, and wild glittering eyes, 
the Moro faced the dancing bayonet. All the 
craft that Babong had taught him was put 
into play as Douglas sprang in, shot his bay- 
onet forward, and felt it strike. 

Impaled upon the bayonet the indomitable 


404 


WINNING HIS WAY 


savage seized the barrel of the rifle with his 
left hand and pressed the bayonet through 
and through his body, thus drawing Douglas 
near enough to sever his head from his body 
if he could but reach him with the last terriflc 
sweep of his kampilan. But his valor was 
useless, for Douglas sprang back from the 
lightning blow, and the Moro toppled forward 
conquered and dying, as cruel a Moorish 
brute as ever thirsted for Christian blood. 

The struggle had carried Douglas some dis- 
tance from Babong, hut the gallant Igorrote^ 
now staggered toward him, exhausted and 
bleeding, yet victor over three bolomen who 
lay dead in the road. 

Douglas and Babong lay upon the grass in 
the shadow of the bamboo, panting and ex- 
hausted from the fierce struggle through 
which they had passed. There seemed no 
more danger from roving bands, and protected 
by his captured rifle, Douglas no longer felt 
much anxiety, for he had conquered the 
fiercest fighter in the Insurgent ranks. 

As they lay upon the grass, a voice came 
tremulously from the roadside, “ Senor, 
Senor.’^ 


TO WEST POINT 


405 


Douglas grasped his rifle and crept forward 
prepared for some act of treachery, but when 
he reached the road, a native stood trembling 
before him, and he saw that it was Tomas 
Estrada, one of the young prisoners who had 
suffered a torture at Prado’s hands. 

Senor,” he said as Douglas recognized 
him, “ Masiquen Laoak was attacked by 
troops from the north to-day after you escaped. 
His soldiers fled, and he is now in a little 
house on the trail from Inlombo not five miles 
from here.” 

How do you know this? ” asked Douglas. 

I was with him, Senor. The Moro did 
not follow you far, but returned and was in 
camp when the attack occurred. When 
Vicente Prado reached a safe place on the 
trail, the Moro gathered up some men to see 
if they could not catch you on the road at 
night, and they made me come, but I dropped 
in the road as soon as the fight began.” 

Where are we now ? ” asked Douglas. 

We can reach Pozorrubio in half an 
hour.” 

“Will you guide us to the trail if I secure 
the help of troops to capture Vicente Prado? ” 


4o6 winning his WAY 

I will, Senor,’' cried Tomas exultingly. 

With eager haste, the three now made their 
way along the road, and in half an hour they 
were in the streets of Pozorrubio. 

‘‘ There is the house of the Commandante,” 
whispered Tomas, and Douglas dashed up the 
steps, and with heart leaping joyously at 
every thump he pounded on the door behind 
which slept one of his own blood. 

The commanding officer flung the door open, 
and there in tattered and bloody native shirt 
and breeches, with bare and bleeding feet. 
Sergeant Douglas Atwell stood revealed in the 
moonlight. 

It was no time for long explanations — 
Vicente Prado, who had ravaged Pangasinan 
for months was a fugitive and might be cap- 
tured by prompt and energetic action. 

Lights flashed through the building. An 
orderly jumped from his bed and dashed for 
barracks, and within fifteen minutes Sergeant 
Douglas Atwell, Babong, and Tomas Estrada 
were galloping at full speed with a mounted 
detachment. 

Captain Stotz, the Regimental Quarter- 
master, who happened to be in Pozorrubio, 


TO WEST POINT 


407 

rode with the detachment. Not a word was 
spoken, but Tomas Estrada led the way on 
his willing steed until they reached the trail, 
and then Douglas Atwell forged to the front, 
for he was now familiar with the ground over 
which he had marched to this camp. 

Presently the moonlight broke through the 
trees and Douglas saw the shack in front. A 
glance back over his shoulder acquainted the 
riders behind with the fact that they were 
approaching their goal, and lashing their 
horses into a run, the detachment swept upon 
the house in the forest. 

Surrounding the building, the eager riders 
held their loaded rifles awaiting a leap from 
the window, as Douglas Atwell and the two 
officers rushed up-stairs with a lantern, 
crushed in the door of the shack, and Vicente 
Prado, the murderer of Gurzinski and Kane, 
and one of the greatest bandits Pangasinan 
had ever known, was a prisoner. 

Quickly securing a rope around his waist, 
Douglas Atwell marched him down-stairs, 
and mounted him upon a pony, while the 
less important prisoners were ordered to walk. 

All was now ready for the return trip, but 


4o8 winning his WAY 

Babong did not mount, and shook his head 
when Douglas urged him to come. He had 
done his work, had paid his debt of gratitude, 
but he refused to go back again into the world 
of civilization. 

Entreaty was useless, and as the detachment 
rode away with Vicente Prado a prisoner, 
Babong the Igorrote stood alone in the trail, 
with the moonlight playing upon the wounds 
he had received in his fight for Douglas At- 
welPs liberty. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


DOUGLAS Atwell’s reward 

The news of the terrible fate of Privates 
Gurzinski and Kane in Prado’s camp, of Ser- 
geant Douglas Atwell’s escape, and of Vicente 
Prado’s capture, was humming over the tele- 
graph lines of northern Luzon, and Company 

M, th Infantry, was deeply stirred with 

excitement, for Sergeant Douglas Atwell was 
riding back to his company with the cavalry 
mail couriers, while his prisoner, Vicente 
Prado, had been ordered transferred to Dagu- 
pan for safe-keeping and subsequent trial on 
a charge of murder. 

The brigade commander had telegraphed 

congratulations to the Colonel of the th 

Infantry on his successful work against the 
most dangerous bandit in northern Luzon, 
and had commented most favorably on the 
gallant conduct of Sergeant Douglas Atwell. 
At San Jacinto and Magaldan, the soldiers 
cheered the ‘‘ conqueror of the Moro,” and 
409 


410 


WINNING HIS WAY 


when he reached Dagupan Klondyke Jones 
and nearly the whole battalion were out to 
greet him. 

But it was necessary to tear himself away 
from his delighted comrades, and to report to 
his company commander, and Douglas Atwell 
mounted the steps of the building where, in 
the preceding November, he had stood before 
the Provost Marshal’s desk and had watched 
Vicente Prado as he “ surrendered.” 

Lieutenant Milton warmly grasped the 
young soldier’s hand as he entered, and in a 
moment he was surrounded by officers whose 
welcome was quite as hearty and touching as 
had been that of his old comrades in the 
ranks. Seated there at battalion headquarters 
in the midst of this group. Sergeant Douglas 
Atwell related the story of his capture, his 
life in the Insurgent camp, and his escape 
through the efforts of Babong, the gallant 
Igorrote ; and no story in fiction ever held a 
more attentive audience. 

In a private conversation with Lieutenant 
Milton, Douglas explained the reasons which 
induced him to attempt the ride which re- 
sulted in his capture, and then he slipped 


TO WEST POINT 


411 

back to the barracks and managed to evade 
his eager comrades, and to secure a few mo- 
ments alone with Klondyke Jones. 

The “ ole sojer shook him with very de- 
light, and when his enthusiasm had some- 
what subsided, Douglas asked the question 
which had been burning for utterance : 

Where is Jackson ? ” 

“ Discharged,” said Klondyke, “ discharged 
about two hours after ye left for Binalonan 
with thet ^ere bull train. Jackson, he had 
gone on guard, when Jong comes a telegram 
from the secretary o’ war, orderin’ his dis- 
charge, an’ ye kin bet Sergeant Casey didn’t 
delay ’bout makin’ out his papers. Th’ hull 
thing was done inside o’ an hour, an’ Sergeant 
Casey stuck th’ papers in Jackson’s hands, 
and says he, ^ Yer relieved from guar-rd, an’ 
discharged from th’ sarvice, an’ ye can’t git 
out o’ me sight too quick.’ An’ Jackson 
dropped everything flat, left all his stuff be- 
hind, an’ peeled fur th’ railroad station as 
hard as he could buckle. Th’ wasn’t a 
man t’ say good-bye t’ ’im, an’ every 
mother’s son in th’ company was glad t’ see 
’im go.” 


412 


WINNING HIS WAY 


Did any one try to break into the store- 
room that night ? ’’ asked Douglas. 

“ No,” said Klondyke, “ I done guard over 
thet ’ere storeroom thet night, an’ it wouldn’t 
a-been healthy breakin’ in thet ’ere door. 
Casey missed th’ keys an’ said he knew ye 
didn’t have them, an’ I suggested it might be 
jest as well t’ keep an eye peeled, fur things 
looked odd. Lad,” continued Klondyke, as 
he lowered his voice, ‘‘ them ’ere keys was 
found in Jackson’s beddin’ after he had cut 
fur high timber. After th’ loss o’ them two 
rifles back at Caloocan, Casey’s eye teeth was 
sharpened, an’ th’ ain’t no more rifles lyin’ 
’bout here fur thet ’ere Chinese critter.” 

And where is Russell ? ” asked Douglas. 

In Manila,” said Klondyke, “ standin’ an 
examination fur promotion t’ th’ grade o’ 
second lieutenant in th’ army. Thet ’ere’s a 
fine lad, Douglas, an’ I hope he gits his com- 
mission, an’ ole Klondyke Jones won’t ask no 
better than t’ serve in th’ ranks o’ his com- 
pany. Lad,” said the “ ole sojer,” philosoph- 
ically, '' they’s nothin’ like a campaign t’ 
bring out all th’ human nature a critter’s got 
in ’im. 


TO WEST POINT 


413 

“ The sojers may be rough, but nothin’ mean 
kin live long among them.” 

Thus the day passed, and that night Douglas 
Atwell lay awake trying to decide upon the 
proper course to pursue. 

No complete proofs of guilt rested against 
Jackson, and moreover he was gone beyond 
the reach of military jurisdiction, and Doug- 
las resolved, for his own protection, to place 
all the evidence in the case in the hands of 
Fred Russell and then to close forever this 
tragic volume of his life. 

It was during these first days of Douglas 
Atwell’s return from captivity, when excite- 
ment was still high, that Jack Thurston, a 
correspondent of the Associated Press, landed 
in Dagupan. 

At the officers’ mess Thurston heard of 
Prado’s capture, and even as he listened 
Prado himself, was escorted into town by a 
heavy guard, and was taken shackled to a 
prison cell in the convent building. 

Thurston’s interest was completely aroused, 
for here was a story filled with thrilling and 
dramatic features, and he hastened to bar- 
racks to see Douglas Atwell himself. 


414 


WINNING HIS WAY 


The next morning a great paper in the 
United States glowed with his version of 
Douglas AtwelFs heroic conduct, while in- 
cidents in the boy’s life as a soldier, obtained 
from his enthusiastic comrades, and a sketch 
of his early career, completed a thrilling nar- 
rative from Jack Thurston’s fascinating 
pen. 

A rej)orter from a New York paper set out 
at once for Douglas Atwell’s home in the 
Shawangunk Mountains, and presented him- 
self to the boy’s astonished mother. 

The poor woman was almost prostrated 
with joy to hear that her boy was safe, and 
she listened with tear-dimmed eyes as the re- 
porter read extracts from Thurston’s story of 
his deeds. The reporter left with a photo of 
Douglas, which his paper published next day, 
while the local sheet of the adjacent town 
came out with a complete copy of “ Douglas 
Atwell’s capture of Gen. Prado,” and the 
countryside talked of nothing else. 

The tide in the affairs of the young soldier 
was running at the flood, when Representa- 
tive Caldwell read the story, and realized that 
the time was opportune for standing before the 


TO WEST POINT 


415 

public of his district in the halo of light 
which now glowed about the local hero. 

Representative Caldwell was a man of ac- 
tion, and without delay he saw the President, 
and urged an immediate and conspicuous re- 
ward for Sergeant Douglas Atwell, who had 
won the applause of his whole district. 

The President listened attentively, and said 
that he would think about it, as he was then 
considering the claims of some other young 
men as well, who had merited rewards for 
their services in the Philippines. 

Thousands of miles from the scenes of all 
this newspaper glory, Douglas Atwell was go- 
ing about his duties in Dagupan in his usual 
quiet manner happy to have won the esteem 
of gallant men, but little dreaming of exalted 
glory and conspicuous rewards. 

But one day, some two weeks after his re- 
turn to his old comrades. Sergeant Douglas 
Atwell was called to battalion headquarters, 
and the Adjutant handed him a copy of a 
cablegram which had just been received, 
the body of which ran as follows : 

“ As a reward for his services in the cap- 
ture of Gen. Vicente Prado of the Insurgent 


WINNING HIS WAY 


416 

Army, the President has appointed Sergeant 

Douglas Atwell, Company M, th Infantry, 

a Cadet, at large, to the United States Military 
Academy, subject to the prescribed physical 
and mental examination. He will proceed to 
the United States by the first available trans- 
port, and will report at the Military Academy 
on June 15th next. The travel directed is 
necessary for the public service.’^ 

Douglas Atwell raised his eyes from the 
cablegram in utter astonishment. 

“ I congratulate you, Atwell,” said Lieu- 
tenant Milton, and I hope to see you four 
years from now an officer of the regiment.” 

“ But I have done nothing to merit such an 
honor,” said Douglas. 

‘‘You have served with conspicuous gal- 
lantry thoughout the campaign, and you 
merit all you have won,” said the Lieutenant. 
“ Young men are getting their appointments 
at the Military Academy, whose only merit, 
aside from mental fitness, is the political 
strength of some friend or relative. You 
have won your honors in one of the hardest 
campaigns the American Army has ever ex- 
perienced. I had thought of a commission 


TO WEST POINT 


417 


for you from the ranks, such as Russell is now 
trying to secure, but as you are only nineteen 
years of age you are not eligible, and I am 
delighted that the President has solved the 
problem by a reward so prompt and fitting.” 

“ But I am afraid that I could never master 
the course at West Point,” said Douglas, pen- 
sively. 

1 have watched you through the cam- 
paign, Atwell, and I assure you that you will 
succeed,” replied the Lieutenant, emphatic- 
ally. The Academy demands work first, 
work second, work always, and absolute 
drudgery part of the time. It is character as 
much as a knowledge of books which is re- 
quired to survive the struggle at West Point. 
If you show the spirit there that you have 
shown in the campaign you will succeed. 

“ But there is another matter, Atwell, 
which I feel I must call to your attention,” 
continued Lieutenant Milton in a lower tone, 
as he fixed his eyes intently upon Douglas. 
“ I suggested a few moments ago that cadet- 
ships were not always won on pure merit. 

Well, a letter which I received this morn- 
ing from a friend in San Francisco informs 


WINNING HIS WAY 


418 

me that Jackson is trying to secure an ap- 
pointment. He is well backed politically, but 
if an exact, indisputable statement as to Jack- 
son’s private conduct during the campaign 
were to be forwarded to Washington, it would 
certainly block that appointment.” 

Douglas flushed crimson, and then turned 
pale. The shadow of his old enemy was once 
more across his path, and the temptation to 
legitimately undermine him was strong in- 
deed ; but the fine, magnanimous spirit of the 
boy soon predominated. 

Jackson has not yet been appointed,” said 
he slowly, and I can scarcely believe that he 
ever will be. If he should secure the appoint- 
ment, I think, sir, the Military Academy will 
be the best judge of his fitness.” 

Which exactly expresses my feelings, also, 
but I felt that fairness demanded that I should 
lay the case before you,” said Lieutenant Mil- 
ton as his face beamed with satisfaction. 

“ Now I will turn you over to the Adjutant, 
who has some orders for you.” 

A transport leaves in three days, Atwell,” 
said the latter, as he rose from his desk and 
handed Douglas a large official envelope con- 


TO WEST POINT 


419 


taining the precious documents which opened 
to him the doors of the Military Academy. 
“ YouM better catch the train for Manila in 
the morning, present your cablegram and se- 
cure a berth without delay. It will take you 
nearly a month to reach San Francisco, and 
you can spend the remaining time in prepara- 
tion for the entrance examination.’^ 

And Douglas Atwell left the Adjutant’s of- 
fice overwhelmed with the magnitude of the 
honor which had been conferred upon him. 

And so, with the cheers of his comrades ring- 
ing in his ears, and followed by the best wishes 
of every officer in the regiment, Douglas At- 
well left the next morning on the train for 
Manila. 

At eight o’clock on the morning of April 
15th, Douglas leaned over the rail of an 
army transport, and watched the iron-roofed 
houses of Manila fade in the distance as the 
boat drew away on its long journey. 

Out past Corregidor the great ship steamed, 
and then drew up the coast line to turn the 
promontory and strike out into the Pacific. 

Then Douglas Atwell opened an American 
periodical which he had purchased as he 


420 


WINNING HIS WAY 


stepped aboard the launch which conveyed 
him to the transport. The first illustration 
within the cover halted his attention like the 
challenge of a sentry from the darkness, for 
there across the page was a beautiful illustra- 
tion of the Military Academy, surrounded by 
a number of cadet scenes, while in the centre 
of the page stood the Cadet Adjutant read- 
ing an order to the Corps of Cadets. 

Up to this time, Douglas had been familiar 
only with the rough environment of the cam- 
paign ; now he beheld the finest scenes as- 
sociated with the military profession. He 
felt the soldier rise within him, felt the strong 
emotion of a purpose to struggle as he had never 
struggled before for the prize of this fellow- 
ship, for the honor of marching in the mag- 
nificent ranks of the black and gold and 
gray.^^ Then he turned his eyes affectionately 
toward the fading shores of Luzon where, 
through a campaign of terrible sufferings and 
hardships, he had won his way to West Point. 


flDVE[ilTl)HE STORIES FOt? BOYS 

WDnraiG ms way to wisi poibt 

By Capt. Paul B. Malone, U. S. A. Illustrated by 
F. A. Carter. The boy who can read this book without 
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hirn. It tells the experiences of a young recruit in the 
Philippines after the transfer of the islands to the United 
States. The hero bears himself manfully and well, and 
as a result of his bravery and service, wins an appointment 
to W est Point. The book is written by an officer who saw ac- 
tive service in Luzon and is now an instructor at West Point. 

THE WRECK OF THE SEA LION 

By W. 0 . Stoddard. Illustrated by John H. Betts. 
Tales of the sea are always fascinating to young people, 
especially when some active, adventuresome boys supply 
plenty of thrilling escapades to add to the interest. Tho 
story of an eventful cruise in Southern Waters, as told by 
an old sea captain, and the ludicrous boastings and ex- 
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young readers. 

THE YOUNG FINANCIER 

By W. O. Stoddard. Illustrated by John H. Betts. 
A unique .story, the scene of which is laid in the money 
center of New York City. The young hero begins life as a 
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IROE TO HIS TRUST 

By Edward S. Ellis, A. M. Illustrated by J. 
Steeple Davis. The hero of this story will win his way 
at once into the heart of every one, and his pluck and 
perseverance will carry the sympathy of every reader 
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experiences. Like all of the author’s works, the incidents 
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ness and sturdy integrity are the only principles through 
which happiness and success in life are possible. 

COMRADES TRUE 

By Edward S. Ellis, A. M. Illustrated. In follow- 
ing the career of two friends from youth to manhood, 
the author weaves a narrative of intense interest. This 
story is more realistic than is usual, as the two heroes pass 
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characteristics of each are finely portrayed. 

AMONG THE ESQUIMAUX 

By Edward S. Ellis, A. M. Illustrated. The scenes 
of this story are laid in the Arctic region, the central 
characters being two sturdy boys whose adventurous spirit 
often leads them into dangerous positions. They visit 
Greenland ; go on a hunting expedition, have a number of 
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ive book for boys. 

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IBE CAMPERS OUT 

By Edward S. Ellis, A. M. Illustrated. Many of 
the scenes are so vividly described that the reader can, 
in his imagination, enjoy the excitement of the chase and 
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well written, and is full of adventure of just the right sort. 

THE YOUNG GOLD SEEKERS 

By Edward S. Ellis, A. M. Illustrated by F. A. Carter. 
A thrilling account of the experiences of two boys during 
a trip to the gold fields of Alaska. The hardships that 
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ANDrS WARD 

By James Otis. Illustrated. A fascinating nar- 
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They dwell in a house owned by a sword-swallower, 
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CHASING A YACHT 

By James Otis. Illustrated. A semi-nautical tale 
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THE BRAGANZA DIAMOND 

By James Otis. Illustrated. A volume that will 
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characters and the bright, courageous girl in their search 
for the famous diamond. Much useful information is 
incidentally conveyed and many things with which 
few persons are familiar are explained. It will hold the 
attention of young readers as much as Robinson Crusoe. 

IN ALASKAN WATERS 

By W. Bert Foster. Illustrated by W. S. Lukens. 
A sturdy lad of San Francisco is taken, against his will, 
aboard a vessel bound on the unlawful errand of seal 
poaching in Alaska. At the time of his departure a 
large sum of money disappears from his guardian’s safe, 
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flDUE|lT01{E STORIES POH BOYS 

the lost galleon 

By W. Bert Foster. Illustrated by J. Steeple 
Davis. The search for a lost treasure ship and her 
eventual discovery form the basis of this very dramatic story. 
It possesses a great deal of originality, and is free from the 
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into the ship-chandlery business, in which the young hero 
engages as the means of earning a livelihood. 

EXILED TO SIBERIA 

By William Murray Graydon. Illustrated by F. 
A. Carter. This is one of the most thrilling stories ever 
written. The heroes, two American boys, become involved 
in a political plot that nearly costs them their lives. As 
nearly all the action occurs in the mines and military 
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exciting, the movement rapid, and the style unsurpassed. 

m THE CAMP OF THE CREEKS 

By Louis Pendleton. Illustrated by F. A. Carter. 
Not a sensational Indian story, but a stirring tale of the 
last stand made by the Creek Indians in Georgia. The 
chief actors, two young men and a girl, fall into the hands 
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THE LOST GOLD BHHE 

By Frank H. Converse. Illustrated. At the open- 
ing of this story, the hero, by a singular circumstance, 
finds himself in possession of certain papers relating to a 
gold mine in the far West, and he and his chum conclude 
to make a search for it. Their untiring efforts are event- 
ually crowned with success, but not until the party has 
suffered many privations and escaped numerous impend- 
ing dangers such as characterized the early days of the 
gold fever. 


THE YOUNG SHffBUn.DER 

By Sophie Swett. Illustrated by John Henderson 
Betts. This is a delightful tale of some New England 
young people who are left to fight the battle of life alone. 
Through many hardships and discouragements they con- 
tinue the old shipyard, and by dint of great perseverance 
and nobility of purpose, finally attain much success. 

A CAPE COD BOY 

By Sophie Swett. Illustrated by P. T. Hoyt. A real- 
istic story of the New England Coast, in which are vividly 
depicted the manly efforts of a Portuguese castaway, who 
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affords much amusement and excitement. 


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A MOOHSHDIER'S SOS 

By Will Allen Dromgoole. Illustrated by F. A. Car- 
ter. The scene of this dramatic story is laid in the mount- 
ains of Tennessee amid the haunts of the illicit distillers. 
The hero is made to suffer many hardships as a result of 
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dents, and the tone is wholesome and elevating. 

THE MONCASKET MYSTERY 

By Sidney Marlow. Illustrated. Wise indeed is 
that teacher or parent w^ho provides his children with such 
healthful and entertaining reading as this book will prove 
to be. It is a pleasing story, full of base-ball and fishing 
experiences, with just sufficient “ mystery ” to add zest to 
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ful to the confidence reposed in him. 

HARRY AMBLER 

By Sidney Marlow. Illustrated. A charming story 
of a bright boy, that is full of exciting incidents, and is 
told in a pleasing style. It is interesting without being 
sensational,andincidentally shows that courage and honesty 
are the sure roads to success. The characteristics displayed 
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The book points out a moral without making that the 
‘ ‘ reason of being ” of the story. 

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FIHDINe A FOKTIJIIE 

By Horatio Alger, Jr. Illustrated by W. S. Lukens. 
l\Iost boys would consider themselves very lucky to find 
a box of bonds and bring to justice the rascals who had 
stolen them, but Harry Gilbert simply did what he thought 
was right and persisted in it, even though at one time it 
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boy, and he receives his just reward. 

FORGING AHEAD 

By Horatio Alger, Jr. Illustrated by W. S. Lukens. 
This is an interesting narrative of an earnest, energetic, 
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young reader to an effort to make the best of himself. 

THE WORLD BEFORE HIM 

By Horatio Alger, Jr. Illustrated by Robert L. 
Mason. The hero, who has been led to expect a comfort- 
able income, is suddenly thrown upon his own resources 
through the scheming villainy of his stepfather. He is 
confronted with many difficulties, but by perseverance, 
courtesy, and good, hard common sense, works his way 
steadily upward. 


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UKIKO HIS HABE 

By Horatio Alger, Jr. Illustrated by Robert L. 
Mason. A manly, resourceful lad, left to the care of an 
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attains a glorious success. The book will prove not only in- 
tensely interesting but also helpful to every boy who reads it. 

THE YOUNG BOATMAN 

By Horatio Alger, Jr. Illustrated. A story of a 
manly boy, whose fine character is brought in contact with 
a coarse and cruel one in the person of his stepfather. Per- 
severance and honesty will always win, as is shown in this 
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Grit, the hero, is worthy of his name, and every boy will 
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THE ODDS AGAINST HIM 

By Horatio Alger, Jr. Illustrated. The book is 
full of bright, cheerful, and amusing incident, showing that 
a boy of good, honest, sterling, industrious habits can al- 
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ing, and in spite of formidable obstacles can obtain a ])osi- 
tion of comfort and respectability. The hero is full of 
resolution and pluck, and by diligence and faithfulness he 
rapidly advances, in spite of the “ odds,” to success. 

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